From a Dusty Attic
by Corvus no Genmu
Summary: Following in the trend of many other authors, "From a Dusty Attic" is a series of could-have-been & just-might-be stories. Some will be epic in sheer length and might be moved to their own one-shot, others just short enough to be called a chapter.
1. A Shadowed Heart

DISCLAIMER: All copyrighted materials belong to their respected owners.

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><p>Following in the trend of many other authors, <span>From a Dusty Attic<span> is a series of could-have-been & just-might-be stories. Some will be epic in sheer length and might be moved to their own one-shot, others just short enough to be called a chapter. All are open for adoption on the condition of asking first and if some garnish enough popularity, I may flesh them out into longer stories or at least add an additional scene or two. In any case, the dust and cobwebs have been wiped away so without further ado, I hope that you all enjoy:

* * *

><p><strong><span>From a Dusty Attic<span>**

By Corvus no Genmu

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><p>"<em>A Shadowed Heart<em>"

A pair of shining eyes blinked slowly in the darkness, candle flames wavering in the harsh winds. A flash of fire and light illuminated the once grand village. A gleam of obsidian fangs and midnight claws as the lanky form slinked forward, soft as a snake, to tower over the babe resting not far from the protection of the village's newly reinstated leader. A faint rustling of incorporeal materials and the claws were suddenly at the boy's chest, ready to tear past the soft flesh and grasp the beating heart beneath but stopped within a hair's width of slicing into the babe. Eyes of burning amber had taken notice of the babe's quiet breathing and with startled realization, discovered the child did not care for its presence there but the boy was asleep!

It stood back in contemplation of this. It climbed around the crib until it stood resting on the head board, long antennae twitching behind its hunched back. A claw gently stroked the naked torso, watching in mild fascination as black symbols of the arcane drew themselves on the young flesh. Its empty eyes seemed to blink as similar symbols stretched themselves out along its lanky arms and for the first time it felt something akin to fear. The strange yet alluring lack of hunger was a pleasant yet not unwelcomed surprise but these spells that tied it to the boy disturbed its sense of purpose and the symbols were a great wound to its pride as a Pureblood.

For as long as it remembered, the hunger had ruled supreme, the desire to feed too great to ignore and it fed, fed until it was the strongest of its brood and yet here it was, finally free of the hunger yet somehow tied and marked to this little thing, this human baby with not one but two hearts residing in his young body. A fanged frown deepened into confusion as a claw tapping inquisitively at the symbols upon the babe's stomach. Perhaps not in the physical sense but there was no denying this child was Two-In-One, it could sense it.

Its frown changed, its claws gripping deep enough into the crib to gouge large holes when it realized that it could not recall fully how it came to be here, on this star. The glow of its eyes dimmed considerably as its concentration seemed to fall upon itself. It remembered… the Soul Half… but… nothing more than that… It seemed to sigh, looking once more at the child, wondering if it would be better off taking the child's hearts now and be done away with him.

However… the idea of going back to before… of the constant hunger, the constant pain of needing to consume… Its head shook, antennae twitching. If this boy was the… key (how ironic to use _that_ word) to ending its hunger, it would gladly keep the child safe. Still… it was alone here and strong as it was, the creature was no fool. It would need… friends… It slid down until the shadows melted with its dark skin, sinking itself into the inky blackness until all that was left were dying ripples in the darkness.

It was a dark night, the shadows seemingly endless with the occasional flame bringing forth the light. It was only hours after the terrible attack and the destruction around the village was an obvious testament to how terrible it had truly been. Empty eyes looked about the damage without a drop of concern or care. With the bodies dead, the hearts were vanquished back to the Kingdom, beyond its reach. Strangely, there was some kind of… it did not recall the word, but it knew it didn't like the feel of it.

A sudden flash of light and pain unlike anything before assaulted its form. Had it any lungs, it would have screamed from the agony, as it was, it could only writhe along the ground until, mercifully, it fell once more into the shadows. Safe within the darkness of the Between, it looked to its arms and saw its marks, once barely seen, were now aglow with vibrant intensity and it realized instantly what had occurred, was occurring now. Something was hurting its key! The Two-In-One!

It moved faster than before, no longer holding back its strength as it moved past the speed of light and into the darkness of the candle-lit chamber where the child resided, unknowingly awaiting judgment of his fate. One of the elders, a member of the civilian side of the council, had raised their voice loud enough to scare the child awake and had earned his tears.

And through those salted waters, the council earned its wrath!

It exploded forth from the shadow beneath the babe's crib, climbing along its wooden surface until it rested once more at the head in a defensive crouch. Its antennae twitched for any small sign of movement as long nimble claws stretched out and golden eyes glaring at any who dared a step closer to the boy.

Their reactions were not surprising and their startled actions were a humorless joke to it. None dared to strike it when the Elder made his will known with a loud declaration. It stood, still crouched protectively over the boy, antennae twitching as the Elder slowly made his way closer. It stopped just beyond what he assumed would be its reach and simply waited.

It cocked its head in sudden confusion. It saw the Elder's heart, as it could to any that held such a precious thing, and yet there was… something else. It stretched a hand out and gently grasped the red-tinged light, careful of its claws, and took note of how strong it appeared. It looked down upon the babe and saw the string connect to the First Heart and understood. Whoever this Elder was, he was no enemy to it or to the Two-In-One. It looked once more to the Elder before gently touching a paw against the babe's torso, lighting the symbols adorning his navel, its own lighting up along its arms.

There was that feeling again, not its own but it could sense it in the hearts of those around them. It delighted in the taste of that feeling for it was strong and bitter to the tongue. Were it still consumed by the fierce hunger, it would have leapt at the chance to feed.

"Surely this is a sign! The Kyuubi still lives in the boy; we should kill it now before it—" The woman was silenced, her eyes wide with fear at the sight of its claws tearing deep, past mundane cloth and mortal flesh. She gasped in pain as it slowly began to squeeze the life out of her. The Elder made no move to stop it nor did anyone else dare to move in any way lest they earn a similar fate. The pink-haired female would have had her heart devoured then and there, were it not for the gentle hand tugging upon its antennae. It stopped and looked down upon its key and saw eyes of a shining blue.

A very familiar shade…

Its hand withdrew and the woman collapsed onto the floor, her strength gone. Satisfied that none would dare to lay a hand against the Two-In-One, it started to sink back into the darkness when the Elder stopped it with a single question.

"What are you?"

It blinked its glowing eyes, and slowly slunk forward so that it crouched over the Elder's shadow. It slowly sank away into the darkness until all that remained were its golden eyes, devoid of heart's light. The shadows in the room warped and stretched into a single, large mass along the floor before they slithered up along the wall. If the Elder wanted to know it, what better way was there then to use the symbol of the Marked Ones?

A burning red light emanated from the center of the shadowed mass, stretching along a line to form a shape like that of a heart before a barbed X appeared above the heart's center like a bloodied wound. The whispers of the wind gave a name to both the symbol and the monster who gave idea to its creation.

_"Heartless…"_


	2. Rage of the Avatars

DISCLAIMER: All copyrighted materials belong to their respected owners.

* * *

><p>Following in the trend of many other authors, <span>From a Dusty Attic<span> is a series of could-have-been & just-might-be stories. Some will be epic in sheer length and might be moved to their own one-shot, others just short enough to be called a chapter. All are open for adoption on the condition of asking first and if some garnish enough popularity, I may flesh them out into longer stories or at least add an additional scene or two. In any case, the dust and cobwebs have been wiped away so without further ado, I hope that you all enjoy:

* * *

><p><strong><span>From a Dusty Attic<span>**

By Corvus no Genmu

* * *

><p>"<em>Rage of the Avatars<em>"

For a hundred years, the war has continued to rage in a constant state of teetering Balance of three sides while a fourth lay dead in the ashen remains of their once impenetrable mountain havens. For a century that injustice has remained free of vengeance, the crime unpunished and the original perpetrators paying only in the Spirit Realm while the seeds of their evil continued to grow and choke the once proud nation of flames and turn its people against everything it had stood for. The essence of the World, that which had given life to the lifeless, the elements to their respected denizens, and powers unrivaled to its Chosen, has grown angrier by the day to a point where She has grown to hate the youngest of Her children. Mankind has done a great evil by breaking the Balance but hope remains in the last of the Air Nomads, the current Chosen of the World who holds a thousand and one generation's worth of knowledge and power.

He whom the humans call the Avatar.

He has mastered the Air, the Water, and the Earth, but remains unbalanced from his hesitation in mastering the Fire. He who is supposed to be the very representative of the Balance in physical form. He is not eager to learn and those who could teach him cannot by their own choice or otherwise. The Essence of the World thought the childish Chosen a fool but had become proud that he had begun to master his true potential, to achieve the truest connection into Her Heart and wield Her Power at its fullest. He was moments away from achieving it, moments away from becoming a True Chosen when he was taken from her, the connection shattered like twine and his life forfeit to Death.

Fury made the molten blood of the World burn hotter, hatred made the earth tremble, despair churned the oceans into a froth, and vengeance was given voice by the howls of the wind. Seals ancient as the World itself began to slowly began to shine as locks came undone one piece at a time as those that lay within the impenetrable cages began to stir to life, awakened from their slumber by the will of the World, their jailer who in turn opened the gates to their freedom. The Four Scions of the World, all abominations of power unrivaled yet equaled to each other and whom had, from the moment of birth, unleashed naught but destruction upon everything that stood in their path, alive again and collared only by a shared purpose, the one solitary price for their freedom.

The Fangs of the Air.

The Claws of the Earth.

The Spires of the Water.

The Fury of the Flame.

The Four Great Avatars of Old are arising to their Mother's cries, Her fury intertwining with their own and strengthening it to cataclysmic altitudes. Let the fires of hell run rampant, the abysmal water churn into a frothing torrent, the earth quake in a continental upheaval, and the winds whip forth the full fury of heaven. The war to end all wars has begun so before you continue on, reading this last and final Book of the Avatar ask yourself one question…

Are you ready?

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><p>Azure and Crimson, Yang and Yin, Darkness and Light. The two dragons entwined around him in his fevered dreams of the numerable futures that could await him. One, azure as the deepest blue, represented words of false delights, of great tales of honor reestablished, of fatherly love and respect given to him, and a scar-less visage sitting rightfully upon the throne. The other, crimson as the flames he bent to his will, represented harsh truths, of the pure form of honor, of following his own destiny and the familial love of an uncle for his nephew. The throne room cracked and soon shattered like glass as his soul was being driven in two by the circling dragons. The azure spoke of rest, of sleeping in the grave. The crimson spoke of awakening, of realizing his true self.<p>

The light destroyed them both and left Zuko alone with the heavenly woman standing before him in the garbs of a princess but unlike any the prince had ever seen before. For one thing, she was far too beautiful to be a mortal woman and though her hair was stark white, she appeared no older than he yet she seemed to possess a wisdom greater than his uncle all at once. At her brow was a trio of jeweled orbs arranged like a triangle and thrumming to the beat of a heart.

His false image gone, Zuko felt almost naked before the heavenly girl. Prince though he was, he felt every bit the fugitive that he had become. "Who… are you…?" Her smile brought an embarrassed flush to his face and he started to turn away from her when she spoke.

"Who I am does not matter. It is who _you_ are that does. You are marked by fate, Zuko." His hand rose to his scar but was stopped by her own. "No. this mark is not one that mortal eyes can see. It's somewhere here…" She touched his chest, just above his heart. "Fate has marked you as someone of great importance to the World, Zuko. You and those farthest yet closest to you must together unite against what comes."

"What? What's coming?"

"Zuko… You have been out from your father's shadow for years, have you not seen the damage for yourself? The Balance of Nature is all but destroyed and the one remaining chance of restoring it lies in the hands of the very being you've sought to capture."

"The Avatar." Zuko whispered.

"The Last Airbender. The genocide of his people was a crime that can go unpunished no longer Zuko. She has grown tired of waiting. She demands justice but She waits to see what the human Avatar may do."

Zuko's eyes narrowed. "The _human_ Avatar?" He repeated.

"You know that humans are not the masters of the elements, Zuko." She gently chided him. "They learned from their teachers and those teachers from the Avatars, the true and living embodiments of the four elements. The Essence of the World, that which humans have come to calling "God"." Zuko's eyes widened at that but she wasn't finished. "She is _angry_, Zuko. She is tired of waiting for peace, for the restoration of the Balance, for the humans to stop this senseless war of destruction and conquest. The comet comes soon Zuko and what Ozai plans to do… She will sooner see the destruction of all life by Her will than to let it fall to the whims of a madman.

"She will break the bonds that hold the Avatars and unleash them upon the planet once more. I cannot stop them alone and if events should lead to their release… I don't think that I'll want to either."

Zuko stared at the woman finding himself at a loss for words save for one all-encompassing question. "Who _are_ you?"

She smiled sadly and leaned forward to plant a gentle kiss upon his brow. "A friend, Zuko… and, a messenger." She vanished away into a haze of butterflies and Zuko awoke to an all-too familiar ceiling feeling strangely refreshed yet empty at the same time as his lips unconsciously moved to a name.

"_Mosura…_"

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><p>With Zuko, Iroh, and Katara distracted by the Dai Li, Azula did the one thing that she would forever regret for the rest of her life…<p>

She struck the Avatar and severed his connection to the elements… and thus damned every living human all in one blow.

The Avatar fell to the earth, dying if not already dead, Katara screaming in horror while the two firebenders could only stare in shock, one in revulsion and another in growing horror. Zuko turned to face his sister, daggers of flame at hand, but stopped at the sight of the ethereal princess from his fever dreams standing before Azula.

"Do you have any idea as to what you've done?" she asked the younger girl. "What disaster you've brought upon this world?"

"I've done the impossible!" exclaimed Azula, a cruel smile on her face. "I've killed the Avatar!"

"No… you've merely condemned us all."

* * *

><p>The island of Avatar Kyoshi, which was so named by its creator, was being torn apart from the inside. Ancient trees fell dead to the ground and great stone mountains began to crumble as great monstrous claws dug through the earth before a golden horn pierced through the thick skin of the World and a fanged maw breathed fresh air once again and screamed in exhalation of it. Finned ears shook themselves clear of dirt and debris, scales the color of freshly red clay shining in the light of the sun. Large enough to swallow an elephant koi whole, the terrific beast rose slowly to its hind legs as the horn atop its forehead shined with golden light. The beast sniffed the air before turning blood red eyes to the northeast. Lips curled in a vicious growl, the beast fell to all-fours with earth-trembling force. Those few people still left alive to be aware of the cause of the disaster that had befallen their island home could only watch in mounting horror as Baragon the Earth's Claws roared his fury to the heavens before digging down into the ground and disappearing once more into the earth.<p>

Off the shores of the South Pole, the waters were frothing into a thick boil as massive chunks of ice fell away and exploded upwards into the air from the heat of the water. Thousands of marine life swam for their lives only to die as the arctic waters boiled them alive. From the middle of this massive boil rose a solitary iceberg that bore no smooth crystalline surface but a cruel field of spikes larger than any icicle had right to be. The waters suddenly cooled as a head bearing a crown of horns cleared the waters. A snort from nostrils large enough for a man to walk through unleashed a thick fog upon the cooling sea. A thick tail rose up from the waves, sporting a thick club of spikes upon its tip that came crashing down as the monster's head turned to the north, great tusked mouth opening in a baleful cry. Those of the southern village of the Water Tribe, the women and children left behind, could only watch as Anguirus the Water's Spires dove back down into the waves and disappeared beneath the ice.

Atop the mountain of the northern Air Temple, the skies were dark as night though the sun was only just now beginning to set upon the horizon. Great bolts of lightning shot through the air like jagged javelins as the roaring wind ripped the stonework of the ancient temple upwards into the sky before shooting them back down at unparalleled speeds. The darkening clouds slowly started to circle but no twister came slinking down, no, something much worse emerged as the air was rent by a terrible roar that echoed down the entire mountain range. A massively lithe form landed atop the temple's rooftops, crushing it with weight and claw. A reptilian that bore the features of a bat yet colored like fresh dawn gazed hatefully down the mountain and, seeing the bleached bones of the dead still remaining, screamed its fury once more as a lizard's tail opened up into a massive fan that crashed down and brought forth another gale. The spiked head turned to the south and a serpent's tongue tasted the wind. No one left alive to witness his return, Varan the Wind's Fangs leapt from the mountain temple glided upwards into the dark storm that followed in his wake.

Within the volcano of the nearby Fire Temple, lava was spewing upwards in great plumes as ash and smoke alike rose to the heavens and blackened the sky. Thick cracks issued out thin clouds of sulfurous gas that ignited into towers of fire. Anything remotely flammable had already been burnt into ash from the rising heat of the suddenly rejuvenated volcano and those few sage that had let the evil of their lord touch their hearts were the first amongst the mounting dead though the temple and its sacred relics remained untouched despite the increasing onslaught. A roar echoed outwards from the depths of the volcano before the fires suddenly died down into embers and molten rock became hardened stone in an instant. As the thick smoke began to thrift into the air, a gigantic form could be seen walking out from the volcano's center. The monster was massive and black as fresh obsidian with thick spikes and horns the color of liquid silver. Entirely draconic but thicker built like an ancient thunder lizard rather than a young serpent, the monster stood on four great legs and a large tail followed along behind it. The monster glared downwards at the fire temple and snorted, turning gleaming molten eyes towards the east. A blast of white flames ripped through the air from the beast's mouth. The one sage still left alive watched in his final minutes as Garuga the Flame's Fury flew upwards into the sky on wings of freshly spilled blood.

* * *

><p>"Condemned?" hissed Azula.<p>

The unearthly beauty merely shook her head before stiffening and looking about herself in obvious fear. "They are coming… Quickly!" She appeared instantly by Zuko's side. "You must get out of the city as fast as you can!"

"What?" A groaning roar echoed from above the cavern's waterfall and one could just see the silhouette of a flying-bison through the rushing waters. Katara glanced upwards before looking down at the comatose Avatar within her arms.

"Come on, we're getting out of here." She shot a look towards Iroh and Zuko. "_All_ of us."

"I think not!" Azula shot a blast of blue-fire only for it to bounce away from the glowing orb of light surrounding the group. "_What?_"

"Go!" ordered the ethereal girl, her arms spread and her glimmering wings fully extended from her back. "I'll keep them back as long as I can."

* * *

><p>Baragon was drawing closer to the source of his sudden reawakening. He could almost taste it in the dirt surrounding him as he tunneled beneath the ground with nary a sign of his passing presence.<p>

Anguirus could sense Mother's frustration and the waters surrounding him began to boil as he sped onwards.

Varan grinned and dove downwards, grazing the land and reveling in the destruction that followed him.

Garuga flew forward, his eyes only towards where his brethren would eventually meet for the first time in several millennia as the trees below him ignited with every flap of his wings.

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><p>"We should go back!" growled Zuko, his good eye narrowed and his teeth clenching tightly. "We've got to evacuate the city!"<p>

"Hey, even if your monsters are real," said Toph. "What makes you think anyone else will believe you? You're Fire-Nation remember?" Zuko clenched his fists tightly and glared at the blind girl.

"Now, now…" murmured the Earth King. "We mustn't fight that we should not…"

"How can we not?" grumbled Toph. "Twinkletoes is out of commission, the Earth Kingdom has fallen, we're on the run from that psycho and the Dai Li, and we've supposedly got a bunch of monsters coming to destroy the world."

Zuko was about to retort when a golden butterfly landed atop his nose. "What?"

"_Land,_" whispered the butterfly, loud enough for all of them to hear. "_Quickly. Get into the caves._"

Katara glanced downwards and saw a large cave imbedded deep in one of the Earth Kingdom's numerous mountains. Appa quickly flew downwards and landed at the cave's entrance and growled at the darkness but shuffled forward regardless of his fears. His partner was in danger and he too could sense the approaching presences of the Old Ones as well as any of the elemental wielders could though the humans knew not this feeling for what it was. To them, this was the fear of loss, the dismay of another failure, and the revulsion of a victory so close only to be taken afar. These thoughts and others like them were swiftly silenced by a horrendous shriek coming from above the mountain.

Eyes turned upwards into the sky as a large form glided downwards and shrieked again as the massive body of Varan came crashing down at the mountain's base. Serpent's tongue tasted the air and his spiked head turned every which way in confusion. Batty nostrils flared for added depth but no good. Perhaps it was a mistake in the wind, but whatever the case it was time to move onward. The Fangs of the Wind leapt into the air and let the air carry him onwards towards Ba Sing Se as more roars echoed in the remaining three corners.

"Was that… one of your monsters Sparky?" whispered Toph, shaken to the core just from the sound of the creature's roars.


	3. Words from the Dead

DISCLAIMER: All copyrighted materials belong to their respected owners.

* * *

><p>Following in the trend of many other authors, <span>From a Dusty Attic<span> is a series of could-have-been & just-might-be stories. Some will be epic in sheer length and might be moved to their own one-shot, others just short enough to be called a chapter. All are open for adoption on the condition of asking first and if some garnish enough popularity, I may flesh them out into longer stories or at least add an additional scene or two. In any case, the dust and cobwebs have been wiped away so without further ado, I hope that you all enjoy:

* * *

><p><strong><span>From a Dusty Attic<span>**

By Corvus no Genmu

* * *

><p>"<em>Words from the Dead<em>"  
>A Drabble Fic<p>

My name is Salazar Schwarzblut and I have done many things…

I have killed soldiers who fought out of patriotic pride, slain knights defending the innocent out of duty, butchered those same innocents struggling to survive against my unending slaughter, and more besides… Much, much more… I have committed atrocities the likes of which only the truest of evils could ever conceive in the darkest pits of their delighted nightmares. I have sullied the honor I had possessed in life into dirtied tatters of the prideful banner it once was. I have sinned my soul blacker than the deepest void.

Who am I…?

I am Salazar Schwarzblut…

Once a warrior of the Light…

Once a slave cursed by primordial magic…

Once a patriot fighting in defense of men and country…

Once resurrected to fight again with no will, no hope, to call my own…

Now and forever more… a Death Knight…

In that final battle, in that last stand at the Light's Hope Chapel… where victory for our side was all but assured… My fellow knights and I lost as much as we had gained. By the Light or by fortune, the Argent Dawn had won against impossible odds of an army of undead until only the Death Knights remained, kneeling in defeat. Then… everything changed… I cannot speak for what my fellow knights witnessed but if I were to guess by my own experience…

Those who left the world before us, those who we held close to our hearts even under the cold grasp of the Lich King, came to us and broke the shackles that bound us to him. We were free to live again but as what? Most of us were not resurrected as the rest of the Scourge, we were whole and complete as we had been in life and we still bled, still hungered for the necessities of life. Whatever we had become, our leader Highlord Darion Mograine was the first to rise against the Lich King who assured Tirion Fordring's words true, that me and my fellow Death Knights had been sent out on a mission of death but not of the enemy…

The Death Knights of Acherus were indeed the Lich King's greatest soldiers… too great for him it appeared. For though our minds were shackled to his cause, there was something he couldn't keep chained forever, something that set us apart from the rest of the Scourge.

Our very souls.

Renamed as the Knights of the Ebon Blade, we took the floating base where we were born anew into Azeroth as our own, freeing it and what few undead denizens within that held no love for the Lich King from his control. We were free and, for the most part, allied with the newly christened Argent Crusade, a union of the Argent Dawn and the Order of the Silver Hand, but it was not enough to ally ourselves with such a small faction that was but a spark to the two great infernos that blazed against each other so readily across Azeroth.

I had heard that few of my… friendlier knights had been selected to approach King Varian Wrynn with Thassarian leading them. Imagine then my surprise at being selected to go as well.

What has happened since I died…?

I cannot say… the only one who could have told me is dead, killed by my own hand.

So here we were, standing before the closed gates of Stormwind, a single member of every Allied race. Thassarian stood at the fore with the banner of truce, his face shadowed beneath the darkness of his helm. The others and I remained close enough that we stood with him but far enough that our hesitance in entering was clear despite how cold and indifferent we were on the outside.

"_This is foolish… King Wrynn hates the Scourge almost as much as he hates the Horde, what could possibly be in that letter that would stay his hand?_" muttered Bilbo, a dwarf with an attitude outmatching his stature. At the training camp where we were to strengthen our new powers and abilities beneath the protective shadow of the floating necropolis of Acheron, Bilbo was a constant thorn in the side of many a newly resurrected Death Knight, constantly challenging duels and only ceasing in his badgering when the duel was accepted and won. He has little respect for anyone except perhaps for me, the only one of the "freshies" that actually beat him at his own game.

"_The archers haven't fired upon us so perhaps Fordring was true to his word?_" Rosewind suggested. A night-elf and by far the most compassionate of any Death Knight. From what few times our paths had crossed, it was plain to see that she was the closest to any of us to breaking free from the Lich King on her own. She still committed much of the same sins as any one of us but she was at least kind enough to only attack those who struck first and only landing a killing blow rather than the tortures that our shortest member is infamous for.

"_More likely he's having the guards set up some cannons to blow us back to the pits._" Gearfried, a gnome, was more easily recognized by his informal title of "Blood Clown". He earned that title for his mastery over Blood magic and his exuberance when he was in charge of gathering information from prisoners. Some say that if his jokes weren't enough to kill you, than his maniacal laughter as he set his magic upon you would drive you to the brink of madness. Since our freedom he has not so much as spoken more than a single word at a time since. That he said a whole sentence makes me wonder if he is the more scared than any of us for he, like Bilbo and Thassarian, were veteran knights compared to me and the last member of our intrepid band of monstrous misfits.

"_Why we would be saved only to die now?_" whispered Saria, a draenei, and one who spoke even less than Gearfried though for different reasons. Her race is one of the closest to the Light with more paladins and priests than all of the races combined. As she was now, Saria was everything that her people stood against and reviled. Out of all of us, she hid herself the most within the shadows of her cloak. For though we all were pale as death, even Rosewind was a few shades shy of being the same violet hue that was her people's skin tone, Saria truly looked like the walking dead with her skin pale and ashen, nothing at all like the vibrant azures and violets I have seen of her people.

"_The gates,_" is my only contribution to the conversation, bring their attention to the gates of Stormwind now opened for us to enter with a small troop of guards standing on either side with enough venom in their glare to put down a full grown dragon in moments. We look to Thassarian, the elected leader of our Alliance band of Death Knights and spokesperson to our cause to King Wrynn.

"_Let's go._" Is all that he says and all that needed to be said. He goes and we follow and the gate guards let us by with open scowls and angry glares but do not attack or hinder us.

Sadly, such control did not last long for them or the citizens of Stormwind.

When it became apparent that we were maintaining our word of peace to the people within Stormwind's walls, whatever compunctions the guards had at keeping their own word quickly crumbled as jeering shouts and calls for a hangman's rope began to follow us as we traveled to Stormwind Keep.

The citizens, bolstered by the "bravado" of the city guards, joined in with their own ammunition of words and rotten food. Thassarian ignored everything around him, focusing only on the path ahead with a dedication I would have admired under different circumstances. Bilbo was trembling with suppressed anger, his hands clenching and unclenching as he fought to restrain the urge to unbuckle his hammer and lay waste to the growing crowd. Rosewind did her best to emulate Thassarian but she still flinched when comparisons were made between her and the leader of the Forsaken, undead free from the control of the Lich King like the Ebon Blade but have allied themselves to the Horde. Gearfried was quiet as always but I noticed that he stood closer to Rosewind, putting himself between her and the crowd. I followed in his example with Saria whose cloak held the most stains of food and spittle though the self-cleaning charms were operating as efficiently as our own. They saw the Burning Legion in her just as much as the saw the Scourge. It makes me wonder what they see in the likes of me.

I got my answer in the form of a woman running at me with a small dagger in hand and screaming what I can only assume was some form of battle cry. The blade shattered against my armor and she fell back from the force of it. She sat there shocked though compared to the crowd's reaction, more pertinently the city guards, hers was minute. The civilians were pale-faced and a good few had dropped whatever fruit they had in hand and making a very undignified retreat. The guards were no longer jeering and had their hands upon their weapons though a good number of them were trembling within their decorative armor. My fellow knights had stopped just ahead of me, all turned and facing the woman that had the gall to break the treaty of non-violence between us of the Ebon Blade and the people of Stormwind.

I glanced at the broken dagger in the woman's hand before gazing up into her eyes and seeing… despair, pain, and… acceptance. Her heart was broken, her loved ones dead by the hands of the Scourge or my kind I couldn't tell, and as much as she wanted to avenge them there was something else she wanted even more.

"_I will not become the instrument to your suicide._" I informed her quietly. Her eyes widened in shock from my ability to speak or perhaps by my words, either way she wept all the same. "_You want to make a stand against the evils that assault our world… Then live. Live and be happy. Find a spark of light in the darkness and cherish it with everything you have and never let it go._" I looked to Tharassian whose eyes shone just a bit brighter, his version of a smile I guess, before he turned and continued on to the Keep with the others and me following close behind.

I had hoped that would be the end of the drama for today; that we would speak our peace to King Wrynn and be done with it, for good or ill, and from there I… I could do something with myself. Of course I would assist in the downfall of the Lich King but I need, I _want_ to become stronger… so that no one else can ever make a slave of me ever again.

I should have realized that whatever gods remain listening to the mortal coil of Creation turn a deaf ear upon me.

The throne room was outlined with the royal guards, those entrusted to protect the royal family with their freshly departed souls if need be. King Wrynn and the prince were present, both standing before the throne, the lad's face pale at the sight of us but he remained by his father's side with his hands held firmly at his side, a truer sign of belief in our intentions we've yet to see from anyone else even in his father the king. Varian Wrynn was every bit the scowling visage I had heard and while there was no missing the distaste evident on his scarred visage there was something else there as well, but it was not him that my eyes remained locked upon but the man, the king, at his left.

Greymane.

"You have mere moments to live, so I suggest you make use of them now." King Wrynn spoke frankly and Tharassian responded in kind though he kept his tongue still. Instead, he reached out and held the roll of parchment, the letter from Highlord Mograine. King Wrynn took it firmly and again that spark of something was there. Prince Anduin appeared surprise at his father's actions but pleased just as well.

I remained behind the others, blending as seamlessly as I could with Saria and Rosewind, the only ones close to my own towering height. It was not out of fear that I stood in the shadows of my sisters-in-death but of surprise. That Greymane had broken his own law of self-isolation, to clearly be here beside the very king he had all but spat upon before the Third War, something had to have happened in the world beyond the necrotic horrors spawned from the Lich King. Something that would have forced Gilneas back into this chaotic, bloodied world… and I had no desire to know what it was for I had made my plans, marked the path ahead and I could not be deterred by anyone.

Even by the man that I still called my king.

The rustling of paper drew my eyes back to King Wrynn whose eyes were starring off into the distant past and he at last looked his age as he spoke, "Indeed old friend… Blood and honor." He turned and affixed his gaze upon us, looking us each in turn and I could swear that his gaze lingered on me before they fell to Tharassian. "Were it not for this letter from Tirion, you would be stains upon my floor. Only an endorsement from one of the greatest paladins to ever live could have ensured your survival."

"Father…?" Prince Anduin prompted when no further word came from the man.

"We…" King Wrynn steeled himself further, "We will work together against the Scourge. Against the Lich King! GLORY TO THE ALLIANCE!" He raised a gauntleted hand up and spoke with a True Voice of Authority to all of the Alliance, "People of Stormwind! Citizens of the Alliance! Your king speaks! Today marks the first of many defeats for the Scourge! Death Knights, once in service of the Lich King, have broken free of his grasp and formed a new alliance against his tyranny! You will welcome these former heroes of the Alliance and treat them with the respect that you would give any ally of Stormwind! Glory to the Alliance!"

Tharassian nodded and glanced back at the rest of us, "_Return to the Ebon Hold and inform Highlord Mograine of the news._" We bowed as one and turned to depart, the incantation to the calling of the Death Gate already on my lips when—

"Hold." Though my back was turned, I could still hear King Greymane stepping forward. "There is among you a single member of every major faction within the Alliance." Shadows warped to an unseen wolf's calling. I whirled and openly stared at the man who had been my king in life and who now shared the same curse that plagued me still even in death. "I would know a hero of my people."

"… _Your Majesty._" I bowed with arms spread out, palms to the sky as was the proper Gilnean tradition. "_If ever I deserved such a title it was in life, not as I am now._"

King Greymane's nostrils flared, taking in my scent but I doubt he'd recognize—"Salazar Schwarzblut?"

Though I could not see it, I'm certain that my eyes flashed brighter as the temperature in the room dropped several degrees, frost crawling outward from where my feet touched the ground. My hands, my claws, were clenched tightly enough that I felt more than heard the knuckles pop. If he was at all perturbed by my reaction, King Greymane didn't show it. He merely stood there, waiting for me to answer for he had no reason to answer mine.

"_… I am he. Though how you've come to learn of me…_" There were ways, plenty of ways he might have learned of me, but none could allow him the scent that lingered still beneath the bloodied ice. Except… impossible. "_Godric still lives…?_"

King Greymane nodded once. "He has been making quite the name for himself. He was recruited by the Archivist Guild last that I heard." My hands unclenched. That guild of all guilds… he has changed in more ways than one I suppose.

"_… I appreciate the warning your highness._" I bowed once more. "_For Gilneas…_" To King Varian and Prince Anduin. "_For the Alliance…_" I turned and with a few whispered words, the Death Gate to Ebon Hold was before me. I stepped through and was immediately assaulted with the stench of death, blood, and decay.

So… he's gone and joined the Archivist Guild… The only guild on all of Azeroth with one stipulation, one basic creed… Its doors open to any sentient race capable or willing to follow that creed to the gates of oblivion with no regards to the warring factions or the numerous professional classes. Yet only the top could truly earn membership to this illustrious guild for they, like all other guilds, had a test of character, one that wasn't difficult to accomplish all considering.

One hundred undead, from skeletal warriors to flesh golems it didn't matter so long as they were dust beneath the dirt once more.

It wouldn't matter that I was tied to the Alliance or that I was seeking to bring an end to the Lich King and all the other horrors that threaten the fragile stability of Azeroth. If Godric and I ever crossed paths we would cross swords as well. He would do everything in his power to see me destroyed no matter that I would do far worse.

Because he is my brother… and I love him too much to do anything less.


	4. Harry Potter and the First Master

DISCLAIMER: All copyrighted materials belong to their respected owners.

* * *

><p>Following in the trend of many other authors, <span>From a Dusty Attic<span> is a series of could-have-been & just-might-be stories. Some will be epic in sheer length and might be moved to their own one-shot, others just short enough to be called a chapter. All are open for adoption on the condition of asking first and if some garnish enough popularity, I may flesh them out into longer stories or at least add an additional scene or two. In any case, the dust and cobwebs have been wiped away so without further ado, I hope that you all enjoy:

* * *

><p><strong><span>From a Dusty Attic<span>**

By Corvus no Genmu

* * *

><p>"<em>Harry Potter and the First Master<em>"

_At age… one year and three months…_

The baby was crying, alone and afraid for the loud noises and flashing lights that preceded the painful agony that was a burdening upon his very soul and the inexplicable knowledge that his parents were gone and were never coming back. Even a baby may feel the death of loved ones though they may not fully comprehend it, and a magical child especially so, but a child such as this on this night of nights? Oh no, it had nothing to do with the ancient and forbidden spells his mother had cast moments before her death or the sliver of the dark lord's twisted soul stuck deep into the baby's forehead thanks in part to that same magic and the wizard's own arrogance.

It was thanks to that man in the corner.

That man stood watching the baby as a child might to an ant. Something like curiosity drew his gaze upon the wailing baby but it was a distant interest, an interest spurred by the explosive magical backlash that could be felt across the entirety of what was once his domain. The ant had bested a hornet, a rare improbability that garnered at least a cursory look if nothing else.

The baby rubbed at his forehead, wiping away the blood the wept from the wound that oozed with the foulest of magic. Silver cloth flowed like mother's milk and embraced the child in its invisible embrace and he smiled a smile of malicious fangs and wicked teeth hidden behind a mask of bleached wood.

He had wondered what had become of it and now that he knew, his intrigue rose with his opinion of the child. That which had no sense of life and was to its very essence, everything that was not alive, had reacted of its own accord to protect a living human child. It had accepted the baby as it had only accepted one other, he whom had given it form, function, and purpose.

He reached forth and pulled the material aside and saw once more the child.

"_So… it is to be you…?_" His voice was the echoes of shadows, the melodies of falling leaves, and the symphony of passing moonlight and his touch was a bitter cold to the bones, the familiar warmth to the soul. It was the touch of an old friend remembered but not one of welcome… but not tonight.

The man stepped back into the welcoming darkness and his eyes, hidden so deeply beneath his mask that only shadows remained, turned back to face the sleeping child. The thirteenth hour was in sight and the night had only just begun but he had seen enough this night of nights.

"_Until next we meet… Harry James Potter…_"

* * *

><p><em>At age… two years and three months…<em>

Petunia had no idea how long the man had been in her home but she knew the instant that she saw him that was worse than the freaks that her sister had dallied herself to the grave with. Worse than the foul, old man who had burdened Petunia's life with the presence of her unwanted nephew, the baby laying deathly still in his crib making not a sound as this man, this monster, approached him.

A hand cupped the face of her nephew and his eyes opened, glazed over from weakness of neglect and hunger. He reeked of his own filth, and his bones were clearer than the day was bright and the moment the man turned to face her Petunia knew. She knew that her blood would make the red of the sunset be as pale as mother's milk on the walls of her home. The moment that man had turned his masked visage upon her and was suddenly before her, towering to the ceiling when once he was no taller than she, a hand reaching upwards to her neck and past it to gently cup her face and stroke it like one would a lost lover.

The other hand went further beyond, up to the bone white mask that hid the face beneath a cowl of obsidian and as she squealed and struggled to close her eyes, to turn her head, to do anything in her power to not see what lay beneath that plain looking mask, it was all for naught. It came free and with it, reality itself shattered around Petunia.

No longer was she in the broken safety of her home but an abysmal graveyard where hundreds upon hundreds of skeletons danced beneath the midnight light of a crescent moon. They danced to the callings of ravens, the drumming of spiders, and the songs of wolves; a mad dance that had no rhythm nor reason to its movements as limbs twisted and turned and bones shifted between partners and back again in a chaotically sensible show of partnership between the long since departed.

And through it all, the man continued his fanged grin.

The world snapped back into place with the replacement of the wooden mask, the impossibly large grin hidden once more beneath it and Petunia fell to her knees with choked gasps whilst tears fell like rain from her sullied eyes.

A gesture of hands summoned up a bottle of formula that tingled with an ethereal glow of revitalization. A silvery shroud appeared from nowhere and moistened itself with this concocted and let Petunia's nephew suckle from its cloth. The man watched as the strength returned to the baby and replaced silver cloak with a proper bottle and let the silvery embrace vanish the child beneath its soft folds as he turned once more to Petunia Dursley.

"_Next time… I will take the boy in your stead._" His hand laid itself upon the other crib in the room and her eyes widened with horror. She tried to scream, to plead for her son, but Petunia's voice had run itself hoarse when she had been dragged into that ghoulish celebration of the dead. It didn't matter though, for even without her voice her eyes screamed on her behalf and the man knew that she would not transgress to this level ever again though she may never love or care for the child as she ought.

He turned his back to her, fully facing Harry Potter for the first time in a year, meeting his emerald gaze fully. There was no comprehension, no sign of recognition, but there was curiosity in those greened depths and there, just a flicker but still latched tightly, a flicker of a blackened soul. The man reached out and rested his hand upon the feeding baby, ruffling the black locks of hair that were starting to take a tangled life of their own.

"_Until next we meet…_"

* * *

><p><em>At age… five …<em>

If Harry Potter knew one thing about Halloween it was that it was a day spent locked inside his cupboard under the stairs just like Christmas, Easter Sunday, and many other such obviously important days and nights that had come before and after. In fact, he'd likely had never even heard the name if his cousin Dudley hadn't had a royal fit over attaining what was to be a country's worth of candy. So here Harry was, sitting locked in his cupboard under the stairs wondering just what was it about this day that made it a holiday. What was it that its very name had his uncle's mustache fluffing with rage and his aunt shatter the china?

"_Would you like to find out?_"

The lock on his cupboard clicked open, a midnight breeze flowing cool, welcomed air into the small space.

Harry had no experience with people beyond his family so he was not as shy or as cautious as a child his age should be. He welcomed the chance for open spaces and meeting someone who was not his uncle, aunt, or cousin. What he saw… well, he wasn't quite certain just who this person was other than a strange man. He didn't look at all like anyone Harry had seen passing by through the windows of the house. In fact, the only thing that Harry could say about the man with absolute certainty was that his face was covered behind a wooden mask that was whiter than the moon and held aloft beneath a cloak of the deepest black he had ever seen.

"_Well?_" The man held out his hand to Harry.

"Who… who are you sir?" asked Harry as he took the man's hand and felt the strangest of sensations, a coldness in his bones but a strange, almost welcoming, warmth from deep within… and was it his imagination or did he hear a faint hissing sound?

The man's mask tilted as he considered the question. "_You may call me… Samuel. Samuel Hain._"


	5. The Eighth Servant: The Beast Part One

DISCLAIMER: All copyrighted materials belong to their respected owners.

* * *

><p>Following in the trend of many other authors, <span>From a Dusty Attic<span> is a series of could-have-been & just-might-be stories. Some will be epic in sheer length and might be moved to their own one-shot, others just short enough to be called a chapter. All are open for adoption on the condition of asking first and if some garnish enough popularity, I may flesh them out into longer stories or at least add an additional scene or two. In any case, the dust and cobwebs have been wiped away so without further ado, I hope that you all enjoy:

* * *

><p><strong><span>From a Dusty Attic<span>**

By Corvus no Genmu

* * *

><p>"<em>The Eighth Servant<em>"

Part One

Saber… masters of swords whose own legends often surpass beyond they who wield them. Lancer… wielders of spears, lances, any and all weapons that provide the extra reach that make striking them down all but impossible. Archer… the true masters of the long-range weaponry who possess such incredible strength of will that they virtually become their own masters. Rider… they who've mastered their mounts to such a degree that even upon their own feet they are a passing blur to untrained eyes. Caster… magicians, sorcerers, witches, and warlocks, they are the artisans of the magical arts, purveyors of spells and enchantments long lost to modern time and its scientific convention. Assassin… the shadow walkers who move silent and unseen by their victims until their blades are buried to the hilt in their heart.

Fourteen combatants in all, the seven Masters and the seven Servants whom they call forth from the Throne of Heroes to fight and kill to attain that which was named as the Holy Grail, that their wishes may be granted, one to the living and one to the dead. An absolute balance, a perfected measure of control… but a war is a war, and like all rules that have come before and like so many that will follow, they are broken.

Shattered.

Ignored.

Yet no higher price could be paid by the breaking of the simplest of rules for there, in the Holy Grail, existed something of… a loophole. Seven Masters and seven Servants, fourteen combatants in all. No more, no less.

Until the other classes were revealed… until one class was exploited.

Avenger… they whose lives were spent in the name of vengeance be it for themselves or others… It is not a true class, a substitute and nothing more. It was never meant to be used for few heroes of the past could fill the standard, and rare was it that the gifts of being an Avenger were welcomed. Summoned from frustration and slaughtered before the folly could be discovered, that which whom was called as Avenger was he who had, in life, been a sacrifice against all that is sin, all that is evil, all that is abhorrent of mankind. In his demise as a Servant, he had done what he had in life and so it was not the soul of an innocent, a soul of an avenging hero that was swept into the Holy Grail.

No.

What it was… what it is…

It is Sin.

It is Evil.

It is everything that mankind hates, loathes, and abhors about itself… all this and so much more was poured into the Holy Grail until that which it had been was no more. There was no holiness to this blackened Grail. The hellish monstrosity summoned forth by Avenger saw to that quite well. Yet… even in the deepest of darkness… there can be a spark, a tiny speck, of light that still shines, a soul willingly sacrificed so that a shared dream may together be realized.

The Grail has become corrupted… controlled by the Evils of the World but there is enough of its core, of _her_ original self, that retains, that remembers…

That all rules are made to be broken… and that Avenger is not the only class that can be called…

Ruler… they whom sat upon their thrones and pedestals as the people below looked up to them to follow their every word, their every command. This is a class that any royal might claim as their right but it is not reserved for these self-righteous and oft pretentious fools. No, it is the right of those who inspire faith, who inspire loyalty, who are led as much as they lead.

Saver… they whom are the saviors of mankind even, some would even say especially, in death. Messiahs each and every one of them for they are the holiest figures of mortal kind, chosen by Fate, guided by Destiny, and protected by the Almighty. This is a class whose place upon the Throne of Heroes is not on the throne proper but above it for if they are second only to He who is King of Kings. Their purpose, their design, for the Holy Grail Wars is to be the saving force when all else has failed, when the degradation has gone so far beyond redemption it would take only the living embodiments of purity, good, and all that is decent, to reform that which has become broken.

Yet what was left of the Grail proper could not make use of either of them. The Ruler is to be the judge, the overseer between the final four combatants for the wish and Saver… No, the corruption was too great, too much for the Calling to reach such a hero's ear…

But… there was one more to consider…

* * *

><p>This was a foolish attempt. He knew this. He had no doubt that it would end in dismal failure and bitter disappointment but when one has no other options left but to try, no other hope left to covet, then even the most foolhardy of ventures are worth the risk of bitter defeat. The runes were carefully scribed upon the floor, a studious mixture of volcanic ash and his own blood. All that was left were the words and the reagent, which he doubted would actually work given its dubious origin but in the hell that was his life Before the End could he really question its validity?<p>

He placed it carefully atop the altar before taking his place at the opposing side of the summoning circle. He bowed his head and considered once more the folly of this latest scheme. It was a chance discovery, an impossible idea, an inconceivable dream, but if it could work… if he became a participant in this competition, this "war"…

Then he could have his wish…

And the End would become a Beginning…

"You who sits upon the Throne of Heroes… if thou would lend thy power unto me… if thou would travel the same path to retribution as I… then hear my call and answer! I am the soldier of the forgotten… as much a monster as a man… My eyes are stained with the deaths of innocents, my hands the blood of the damned, and my soul by those whom I left behind… If thou art willing to stand beside such a miserable being… hear me and come forth!"

Nothing…

Not a spark, not a light.

Nothing.

And then the ground began to quake as fire burned unseen in the air… Light brighter than the exploding birth of a star blinded him but nothing to deafen him to the question asked of him.

**_I ask of you, are you my Master?_**

Words, emotions, intent… it didn't matter how his brain interpreted the unspoken tongue or the overwhelming vastness that was there and was not. The vast dining hall seemed almost miniscule, tight and small for the behemoth awaiting an answer that came with hope and without hesitation.

"Yes."

Crimson light flared across the back of his right hand, lines twisting and turning upon the pale flesh to carve an image composed of three parts that united made the vague impression of a reptilian claw.

Then, the oppressive presence and its overwhelming heat were gone as if they never were. But he could feel the tether, the chains that bound him to his Servant and the Servant to him. His latest foolhardy ploy, his childish scheme, a false hope to be unrealized…

It had worked.

It meant a lot of things. It meant that he well and truly had a chance for atonement, that there was magic here though it was not as he knew it to be, and that the words and curious glances held more to them than he had ever thought. That the accidents of his childhood were no longer unexplained and with this realization came an outburst.

"I'm a wizard…?"

* * *

><p>They were at the pier.<p>

Seven in all though only two were fighting…

Saber and Lancer…

He knew this the moment their duel had begun, even halfway across the city. It was his bane and his gift. A friend, a rare commodity he treasured more than his own life, had once jokingly referred to him as "The One Who Sees" in reference to this gift and the fact the original bearer of the title, fictional though he was, bore such an opposing disposition that the only similarities that could be found was in that which made them stand separate and alone.

He sees but not with a mystical eye. He knows but he has no idea. He understands yet he rarely comprehends. That's how he had always been even before he had been Chosen. It was one of the reasons he had been selected really, to see the Truth where others could only see the Lies. It's how he knew to go to the abandoned mansion, how he found that one book in a library of thousands more of its ilk, how he managed to live while the others…

Well. That was the past and his eyes were looking to the future.

He arrived moments before Rider and his master did, using the overly dramatic entrance to mask his presence as he took a place amongst the shadows. He had seen the assassins and the Servant who defined that class. He had nothing to fear of the mages but the Servant Assassin was… wrong. A fragment, a piece that could attack as a swarm and overtake him if he wasn't prepared to committing enough property damage that even the best of these magi couldn't mask from the mundane.

So he stood in the shadows.

So he watched.

As the Rider descended from the Heavens on a chariot of lightning and proclaimed himself fully to the world and invited both combatants to join him on his conquest for the Holy Grail as his companions but also as his underlings. He listened to the refusals of the Lancer and the Saber, both stating with pride their stances in this life. He winced as the Rider shouted once more to the heavens that any and all Servants and Masters watching in the darkness step forward lest they earn the scorn of the King of Conquerors.

He worried that his Servant found amusement in the Rider's words but did not rise to the bait as another did.

Archer.

No…

His eyes narrowed and he saw the man beneath the legend as he had with Saber and Lancer.

Gilgamesh…

He listened to the golden Servant's boasts on his regality, his reign from the heavens above the lowly peons who dare to label themselves as kings in his presence. The Rider did not help to make the situation better by bringing forth the fact that none of those present on the open grounds knew the Archer for who he was.

He watched as the golden lights circles open wide behind the Archer as he declared that the penalty of their ignorance would be their deaths. Weapons emerged from the rippling portals and as he had come to know of the Archer, so too did the hidden Master discover the golden king's Noble Phantasm for what it was.

The Gates of Babylon opened wider as the ancestral weapons of those founded in legend took aim. The weapons were nameless, each and every one of them, but far more powerful than what they would become for these were the legends at their highest potential and they carried it from sharpened point to smooth hilt. Such was the nearly limitless potential of these weapons that even the slightest of contact upon their target would result in an explosive force great enough that the hidden Master wondered if now was the time to interrupt.

Too bad that somebody had beaten him to the punch.

Shadows twisted and turned upwards and remained as a ethereal cloud around the armored form of the Berserker but even with this darkness so strong, so powerful as to be a Noble Phantasm in its own right, he saw the knight beneath the shadows, the man beneath the legend and even in the presence of that man's sworn and betrayed "king" did the Master feel himself breathless once more but not merely out of surprise.

For he was not the only one to recognize the Berserker for whom he was… who he had been… and what he had done…

It started as a low growl but to those unawares of its origin it could very well have been thunder to their ears. Then, it rose in volume until there was no mistaking the hellion roar for what it was and even the golden clad Archer could not refrain from dismissing away the Gates of Babylon from the overwhelming _fury_ that came with such a sound. Those weak-of-heart and weaker minded fell blissfully into the catching embrace of unconsciousness while those of steely resolve and burning passions of their own at least maintained the dignity of wakefulness though it was only they whom are blessed by the arts of magic, practitioners or creations-of it did not matter, who did not immediately collapse from the echoing tide.

In fact, of those present only two remained, for the most part, largely unfazed.

Berserker was already moving, leaping up seemingly in an attack for Archer but instead used the Golden Servant as a shield between him and the onslaught of fire that came surging forth after the Black Knight. There was no preparing, no escaping, such a sudden assault of flames that burned so hot that they blazed white at their edge and stunning blue in their center.

A massive shadow fell as something moved through the open air, tracking the fleeing speck of blackness with a burning trail of fire as the winds kicked up the smoke and ash away from the flapping of enormous wings. The earth shook as the originator of the hellion roar and equally hellish fires landed where the King of Heroes had once stood boasting his superiority above his fellow monarchs. The molten scrap molded to claws longer than a man is tall as a tail large and imposing with its spaded tip swung with clear displeasure made all the more apparent by the vicious sneer of fangs on the reptilian's snout. Crimson scales gleamed like bloodied rubies in the artificial lights whilst the pale spotlight of the moon highlighted the fury of amber orbs as the glared into the shadows, smoke trailing through clenched jaws as the furnace of innards stoked the fires to their full intensity and made bright the massive neck with its warm glow.

But Berserker was gone, retreated with his barely conscious Master carried tightly in his arms for even in the depths of his madness, the Black Knight remembered his own experiences with beasts such as what slain Archer in his stead and though he was by no means an apprentice in the art of slaying such monsters from the world he knew from such experience that his Master would not survive the battle to be had between him and the impossibly summoned Servant.

The Beast.

The smoke wafted away completely, the furnace dying to the softer embers of a mundane flame. He who stunk of blood and betrayal was gone and much as the desire to make an intended kill rather than one of incidence, finding such an insect in a hive was only going to lead to further frustrations and annoyances.

Speaking of…

Amber eyes narrowed before the triangular spade of the Beast's tail whipped forth through the air and brought the nearby crane down with a crashing of steel girders. Fangs flashed forward and bit down upon something which screamed bloodied murder before it was permanently silenced with a bone-breaking crunch and the remains spat down upon the ground between the Beast and the remaining Servants.

Assassin's head rolled forward until the skull of his mask was staring up at the Rider's grim face. He glanced back down at his master and saw that the boy had collapsed, from shock or the sheer enormity of the monster's presence. The Lancer was tense on the Rider's right, gripping both spears tightly in his hands. He couldn't move to retrieve his Master and flee lest he draw the monster's attention upon the man who wisely remained silent and did not dare draw the Beast's attention by ordering his Servant to take him and flee.

Truly it was a wise thing for the man to have soiled himself shortly before falling unconscious.

It gave him a reason for a change of clothes if nothing else.

From their hidden perches amongst the towering stacks, master and apprentice remained still as the dead and breathed just the same. Both were not unfamiliar in the ways of magic though neither could be claimed or considered as proper practitioners of the craft. Both had met and conversed with a living legend but it was a legend that did not live up to their inbuilt expectations, the dreams and imaginations of a childhood where the legends seemed as factual history of a forgotten past.

This?

This was everything those stories said and more for this did not meet their expectations but shot them down and ground them into dust, particularly in the eyes of the stand-in Master of Saber who was doing a marvelous impression of a guppy, cuteness and all. As for the Saber herself…

Were it in her possession, she'd have returned her blade to its sheathe. Were she not in the presence of enemy Servants and already sporting a major injury upon her left wrist the Saber would have dismissed her weapons and armor alike in the presence of this Beast for just as she had recognized the Lancer by his legend so too did she know this Beast through his.

Rather, through hers.

Amber met emerald as an ancient beast gazed upon a young royal. One was clearly a monster's gaze, inhuman and ravenous in its intensity and the other, while human, contained the same semblance of power for theirs was a shared bond betwixt destiny and fate. Yet now, centuries past the time in which they made their marks in history and legend, is when they should meet. It might have been a moment, it may well have been several minutes, either way the staring contest was won by he who looked away with disdain from she whose eyes carried more than her soul in its evergreen depths.

The tapping of wood and footsteps knocked gently upon the sacred silence instilled by the Beast's full emergence into the Holy Grail War but it was the voice of the Beast's Master who shattered it fully.

"I suppose that we all should be grateful that you didn't deem it necessary to swallow, eh?" The Master stood beneath the shadows of a half-spread wing so while the details were lost there was no missing how much he favored his left side or the cane he leaned upon. His glasses, which seemed a size too large upon his face, gleamed in the light and his smile was a touch mad as he looked upon the remaining Servants in turn until his gaze fell upon the Rider. He bowed his head with an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry but as enticing an offer as it is to fight under your banner, I'm afraid that neither my Servant or I would bow our heads to you, King of Conquerors."

Rider blinked twice before he roared with laughter. "You are more than I expected from the Master of such a Servant!" He chuckled as he shook his head. "At least I can claim an interesting night out of this."

The Master of the Beast shook his head. "As I said, we will not bow to you but I never said that alliances were out of the question. We have seen for ourselves that the death of Assassin was more than a slight exaggeration on Archer's part, and there is Caster to consider, but that's a conversation for another night with less… excitement shall we say?"

He turned away and started once more for the shadows but paused. He did not turn back but there was a small twitch of movement, the slightest glance out the corner of an eye. What he saw confused him but as much as he wanted to inquire he held tightly to his parting words. The night's excitement was great enough and he needn't add to it with accusations of the Saber's status as…

Well, that was a topic for another night.


	6. The Eighth Servant: The Beast Part Two

DISCLAIMER: All copyrighted materials belong to their respected owners.

* * *

><p>Following in the trend of many other authors, <span>From a Dusty Attic<span> is a series of could-have-been & just-might-be stories. Some will be epic in sheer length and might be moved to their own one-shot, others just short enough to be called a chapter. All are open for adoption on the condition of asking first and if some garnish enough popularity, I may flesh them out into longer stories or at least add an additional scene or two. In any case, the dust and cobwebs have been wiped away so without further ado, I hope that you all enjoy:

* * *

><p><strong><span>From a Dusty Attic<span>**

By Corvus no Genmu

* * *

><p>"<em>The Eighth Servant<em>"

Part Two

He admired the stonework of the castle. He had a thing for them, a passion really, for such places that brought to mind the fairy tales of his youth. Though given recent experiences he supposed that calling them mere tales was hardly fitting… but that was neither here nor there. At the moment, he was enjoying an amusing show between two Servants who still remained the rightful Kings that they had been in their legends long past. To be fair, most of the amusement came from their respected Masters. The Rider's young master looked torn between having a nervous breakdown being in the middle of enemy territory and throttling a man who could easily break him like a toothpick. The Saber's… stand-in was probably the nicest title he could use for her, looked torn between being confused and angry at the red-haired Servant and the meek Master who had supposedly supplied the Rider with the funds to afford a barrel of wine.

Speaking of, he'd best make his presence known before his own Servant does so for them both.

"If this is to be a dialogue rather than a war, I admit to my own interest though I must question your reasoning King of Conquerors." The Master of the Beast stepped forward from the shadows of a nearby archway. He smiled with eyes closed to the shock and horror that his revealed presence brought forth to those unexpected of his arrival and of his true appearance. "After all, if the Grail were to fall to the hands of royalty then it would have summoned seven kings instead of three."

In the open as he was, there was no hiding the young man, a boy barely into the full cusp of adulthood really, that was the Master of the Beast. His smile was a mask of cheerfulness and his glasses gleamed brightly, hiding the pained winces found in weary brown eyes. He favored his right side as he walked, putting much of his weight on his cane as he walked with carefully measured steps. He was dressed plainly without any distinction of his rank among the magi and in a crowd of the mundane he'd easily have been lost were it not for the scars. Burns by the looks of them, that covered most of his left arm and went up to just beneath his eye on the same side.

The Master of the Beast stood beside and between the two Servants and struggled with sitting himself down, moving an uncooperative limb aside by way of his cane until a hand gripped him gently by the arm.

Whether it was the shock of his appearance, both physical and sudden, it came as no small surprise to the younger Master to find himself with the shockingly soft hand of the Servant Saber assisting him to his seat on the ground. Though sore that he had to be helped at all, the Master did not keep silent his gratitude and spoke them with a soft whisper.

"Why have you come here, Master of the Beast?" asked Saber, keeping her grip upon his arm.

"Arthur."

Saber blinked. "What?"

"My name." The Master of the Beast clarified with a self-depreciating smile. "It's Arthur. Arthur L. Kuromori." He pulled his arm free from her lax grip and answered the unspoken question. "Hardly coincidence I think, meeting the very person I was named after but then there is no such thing as coincidence is there…?" He shook his head. "As to why I'm here, well, this is to be a Grail Dialogue yes?"

"That it is boy," agreed the Rider, presenting a cup of wine to Arthur with a smile. The Master of the Beast took it with a small nod of thanks and took a small swallow and grimaced. The Rider laughed heartily at the sight. "Too strong for you?"

"Hardly. Too weak." Arthur looked upwards. "Would you be so kind as to spare one of your acquisitions?"

Single eyebrows were raised before the twins shot up to meet them as the Beast raised his head up from outside the castle walls. Amber eyes glared down not upon the humans but the opened barrel of wine. A disdainful snort of ashen smoke expressed the Beast's opinion of the drink. The Beast stood upright and reached over the castle wall to drop a barrel of his own, its top already torn free with the liquid concoction within set aflame at its center.

Rider, deciding that tasting the wine presented by a dragon was far more prudent than asking such ridiculous questions like where the Beast had acquired it or had said Beast kept appearing out of nowhere with little evidence of being Astralized beforehand. Not one to do anything halfway, the Rider took not a small sip but a large gulp of the warmed wine and found himself wondering just when the world had decreed it necessary to tilt slightly upon its axis.

"This… is excellent wine!" He exclaimed jubilantly and proceeded to pour several cups for everyone no matter that they refused to remain in place on the ground. "Your Servant has fine tastes boy!"

Arthur smiled but didn't give away the joke hidden in the Rider's words as he took a small sip of his cup. "Only the finest of wines would satisfy his palette, believe me. Too bad that possessing such fine spirits is not a prerequisite to attaining the Grail eh?" He chuckled, his cheeks slightly red.

Perhaps a sip was too much to take after all.

"While I don't deny that this fine drink deserves an equally fine vessel from which to drink," said the Rider, "the Grail is not a drinking cup. First, you'll have to tell us the scale of your wish for the Grail."

"The scale of my wish?" Arthur repeated, his grip tight upon his cup. He smiled and like before, it was an empty thing, devoid of any happiness. "I'm afraid you'll have to provide an example Rider if either Her Majesty or I are to weigh our wishes properly."

To his surprise, Arthur found himself with an embarrassed Rider who took another long drought of wine before he answered. "True incarnation."

"What?" The Saber started in surprise though her outburst was a quit whisper to the startled shout of the Rider's master who ran forward to shake the larger man's shoulder.

"What?! Hey, wasn't your goal supposed to be world conquest—Urk!"

Arthur was impressed. He doubted any other man could attain such distance with the flicking of a finger to the younger man's head.

"Idiot. What's the point of having some drinking cup conquer the world for me? Conquest is a dream I'll entrust to myself. All I want from the Grail is the first step of that process. Even if mana gives us form in this world we still ultimately remain as Servants. I want to be firmly rooted to this world as a living human." The Rider clenched his fist tight, no one noticing Arthur's eyes flicked over to the Saber for a second in time. "And with a body of my own I shall defy both Heaven and Earth. _That_ is what the act of conquest is about. It is how it begins, proceeds, and is finished. Such is my path of conquest."

"Defiance of Heaven and Earth…" Arthur mused, his fake smile small and almost gone as he took a drink.

"That's not how a king should be." Saber stated.

"Oh? Let us hear what you wish for then," said the Rider.

"I wish for my homeland's salvation. With the omnipotent wish-granting device I shall avert Britain's fate of destruction."

Arthur didn't speak, didn't gape, he only stared with narrowed eyes upon the King of Knights as though she was the most disgusting thing he had ever seen and now, with her declaration, she truly was as such in his eyes. He might not possess a gift of words but given what he had already seen of her it wasn't hard to put the pieces of the puzzle together and the image they created was certainly not befitting the King of Knights. "You… _That_ is why you made the deal? _That_ is the bargain you struck to be here not as you should but as you are?"

The Saber's eyes widened in surprise but Arthur was far from finished as he pushed himself up on shaking legs and trembling arms not from pain but from simmering rage.

"You… would lay down everything that you are, everything that you have been, and everything that you continue to be… just so that you won't exist? So that the life you lead, the victories and the defeats would be laid at another's feet, and the blame and the praise could be laid upon another's shoulders? I had expected the King of Conqueror's wish, the wish of a man whose legend was cut far too short but I respect that he does not desire to start anew where his story ended but to craft another legend here, now, at the beginning rather than at the end."

He was advancing upon her and though she knew not what her body was doing without her conscious thought, she was retreating from him because just as what Arthur saw in Arturia so too did she see something, _someone_, she had known in life. A bumbling old coot of a mage but the dearest of friends and one whom she had seen angry, truly angry, once before and it was the sight of a similar rage that made her the mouse instead of the lion.

"You are a dreamer, Arturia Pendragon!" snapped Arthur, using the Saber's name rather than her titles. "A dreamer who dreams of rest rather than adventure! You dream of being forgotten, of oblivion whilst my own Servant dreams of living! Of being awake rather than asleep as you clearly are!"

The Saber's eyes widened, pinpricks in globes of white. "Impossible. How can—"

"Once, I had a title of my own. Once, I was jested by friends and allies as being _the One Who Sees_ and what I see here before me is not a Saber and most certainly not a king. What I see before me is a little girl who dreamt herself a King of Knights and now tired of the dream wants not awaken from it but to banish it away as though it never was! What I see…" He sighed, and seemed to collapse upon himself, putting all of his weight upon his cane as he leaned forward on trembling legs. "A bigger mess than I realized." He looked up at the shadows of the castle walls. "I admit my surprise, I did not think that I warranted so much attention."

"What?" The question, amazingly, came from the Master of Rider, which earned a small smile from the Master of the Beast in response. Trust the Master of the brashest of Servants would manage to keep his wits about him.

"Though the shadows aid you, the darkness is far from your ally. Come out, all of you. I want them to see how many Assassins it would take to kill a crippled monster." Arthur called out and in answer the Assassins emerged from the unnatural shadows. One, then three, then seven, and the numbers kept growing until well near a hundred stood throughout the ramparts and castle walls.

The Masters moved to stand close to their Servants though only the Saber had taken invisible sword in hand. Rider, still in his casual attire, was amicable as ever as he raised a filled cup to the crowd of Assassins.

"Now, don't hold back! Those who'd speak with us, come forth and take a cup with us! This drink is as your blood!"

A dagger shattered the cup on its way to impalement on the ground just beside Arthur. The wine spilled over the Rider's shoulder in a large red stain and to his credit, the Servant didn't even flinch as he glanced down at his ruined shirt.

Oppressing silence.

Unnatural stillness.

Which meant only one possible thing.

"… Shit." Arthur muttered.

"I did say this drink is as your blood. If you insist on spilling it… So be it." The wind roared in a tight tornado around the Rider who was now no longer in appearance a muscular and boisterous man but a muscular and boisterous King of Conquerors. "Pay close attention Saber! It looks like I will have to show you how a king truly stands!"

The small spark of light that Arthur had seen in the Rider's heart expanded outwards, swirling and twirling as it gained greater magnitude until all who stood upon the castle grounds had been absorbed into its shining depths. Yet it was not a place upon which the gathered found themselves though it could be assumed as such as it did appear every bit the magnificently large desert. No, it was the crystallization, no, it was the _realization_ of the Rider's very soul. Everything that he was, everything that he is, and everything that he could still be was now grafted into reality itself, but to put it in the simpler terms of the magi…

"A Reality Marble…" whispered Irisviel. "Unbelievable…"

Arthur admitted his own disbelief to himself as he eyed the unspotted and unconscious form of his Servant who somehow still managed to cling to an emptied barrel of wine here in this realized reality of the soul. He knew of the rare and often exploited weakness of dragons but had hoped that given his legend, the Beast would have proven far stronger in that regard.

_Or it could be because of that very legend he has that weakness at all…_ thought Arthur. _After all, was that now he and his rival were imprisoned in the first place?_ He looked back towards the approaching army of Alexander the Great and smiled. _I guess we can sit this one out…_

And so he did, standing back and watching as the boisterous Servant proclaimed his own magnificence as his army of thousands of heroes surged forth and overtook the band of Assassins in a massive tidal wave of steel. Many of the manifestations of the Assassin tried to run but where was there to run from the soul of a King? Yet, there remained one standing, not in defense or even attack but in acceptance. Perhaps it was her who was the True Assassin or perhaps she was simply the most sensible of them. In the end, it didn't matter for she died just the same as all the rest though perhaps with the honor in having the King of Conqueror behead her with his own blade.

Then, it was over and the blinding desert day was returned once more to the heart that carried it and the castle night resumed its reign in the midnight hours. Arthur took one last drink of wine as he felt the Beast stir outside the castle walls, awake and mildly confused. Sending a silent promise of explanation, the Master of the Beast set his cup down and turned away from the rest of the gathered Servants and their Masters.

"I think I've said all that need be said this night… but no, I suppose there's something else I should say." Arthur looked heavenward. "I came here to find out for myself whether I would find remorse in killing the two of you. That in some way your wish or those of your Master's could possibly outweigh my own. I was wrong and I was right. I respect your wish to start anew in this life rather than what you were before, King of Conquerors so my Servant and I will face you as you faced the Assassins, at your strongest or not at all."

The Rider's face was unnaturally calm but he nodded all the same, a small smile tugging unseen at the corner of his lip.

"As for you." Arthur didn't even deign to look at her but there was no question as to whom he was referring. "Six billion, nine hundred seventy three million, seven hundred thirty eight thousand, four hundred and thirty three."

"What?"

"That is the weight of my wish. It's the same wish as your Master's own." Arthur looked to Irisviel and the pale-haired homunculus knew that though he was looking at her, he was speaking to her husband. Even so, she tilted her head in confusion, as pain seemed to well up in the younger man's eyes as he gazed upon her and wondered to herself why he had flinched when he first set his eyes upon her. "The only difference I suppose between us is in the context." He bowed to her. "May your remaining days be good to you as you deserve, Miss von. No, I'm sorry, Mrs. Emiya."

"What—How—?" Irisviel tried to stop him, to try and spot him from the darkness but she had not the same eyes as he and though she thought him gone by way of magic she had no clue to the truth. That Arthur was merely leaning against the opposite side of the wall, tears falling from his eyes as he pressed a hand against his face.

"For him… She's killing herself for him." He whispered, seeing another woman's face in place of the Lady Irisviel's own, blood trailing from her heartfelt smile from the joy that he would live even as she would not. "Damn it…"

* * *

><p>He had to give credit where credit was due. He had thought that the Caster would make a grandstand out of his final fight in the War and the madman certainly overfilled that quota. He hadn't expected a man with no real claim of power, no real legend beyond his treachery to his Lady, to command the power necessary an eldritch abomination straight from the depths of whatever pit of damnation spawned it. He stood back in the shadows of the shore, unseen even by the keen eyes of the Lancer by simple fact that the Heroic Spirit had not turned his eyes away from the abomination making headway through the river towards sustenance and, ultimately, full realization into this world.<p>

**_Will you not fight?_**

His hand clenched the top of his cane tightly. Though they were not words spoken or heard, he understood the intentions, the instinctual methods behind the mind of his Servant.

_It is not a matter of will… Not anymore._ He had seen how little harm came from the Rider's lightning, had witnessed the cleaving of tentacles by the invisible sword of the Saber, and had watched as burns were wiped clean and sliced limbs regrew in the blinking of an eye. The power to end this battle… was not his to command. It never was, not even then when he had earned the right when no one else could. So the Master closed his eyes to the world and begged of his Servant to cast forth his flames once more.

The answer was hardly unexpected. **_What do I gain in the helping of humans? What do I acquire in the aiding of children?_**

His own, he sincerely hoped, was not so expected. _Recognition._

Silence.

So he continued, _There upon the shore, are people, mundane the whole lot of them, but they hear it, they see it, and they know it for what it is. Yet they cannot see the man who rides the lightning or the girl wielding the air as her steel. But they will see you. They will recognize you. They will know that the Age of Gods lives still if not in the World then in its People. They will see you as you are and they will whisper the name of your People with reverence and fear._

Silence still.

Then the air was rent by a legend's roar. The wind blew as a gale beneath massive wings, which carried forth a crimson Beast to the heavens to soar with primordial grace upon the air. Fangs revealed their ferocity with a hellish light before that light came gushing forth in the form of flames. A stream of dragon's fire flew down and burned all that it touched, the river water ignited as their bloodied cargo became like sin and was vanquished just the same. The tentacles were not so much burnt as they were ignited and ruptured as unbelievable heat met flesh unaccustomed to the temperatures beyond that found in dismal pits of watery graves. The body of the abomination _screamed_ as its flesh was vaporized down to its core yet whereas the tentacles were lost completely, the remains of the flesh quivered in their futility to heal before the next onslaught of fire could rain down once more.

Salvation came to the abomination in a most unexpected interruption.

"Berserker…" whispered Arthur, startling the Lancer and Irisviel with his presence as he stepped up to stand beside them at the shore, his gaze locked on twin motes of light shining in the sky above the battlefield. The Beast twisted in midair and dodged as one light was caught and devoured by the abomination. It screamed as new tentacles ruptured free from its body but the burns remained unchanged. It would need far more than the body of a single man to manifest its full potential.

Much more…

The second mote of trailing light gained a purplish tint as darkness enveloped its entirety in a physical shroud and reddened veins of blood pumped beneath metallic flesh. In life, it had been a McDonnell Douglas F-15 Eagle, a fighter jet like any other of its breed but in the grasp of the Black Knight, of the Berserker who fought under Someone's Glory and bore a Knight of Honor, it had become a part of a legend and so was no longer a mere machine.

It had become enchanted.

And by the Berserker's will, it became almost alive as twin engines roared their fury, carrying the blackened steel through the air and twisting about in a tight circle as it spat forth a storm of bullets in a long trail first across a score of tentacles that were unfortunate enough to be in the way, past the startled and soon confused Saber, and upwards to their real target. Bullets that were admittedly only semi-capable of piercing the thickest of armor made up for this weakness by being highly explosive upon contact.

Yet even enchanted bullets did little more than bring the attention of the Beast away from the abomination.

The Berserker soared past, crimson visor meeting amber eyes for the briefest of moments, and then it was soaring heavenward before twisting back for another pass. Missiles flew from beneath steel wings and the Beast did not so much run as make use of the equally massive and stupidly flailing form of the abomination. Enormous wings flapped with gale producing force before the inferno was unleashed in blazing balls that shot forth and left a burning trail through the air as they shot past closer and closer to their twisting and winding target.

The Beast twisted sharply, fangs biting and just missing the F-15 as it shot past. He fell upon the bridge and took roost at its highest point with wings tucked in tight only to suddenly unfurl them with a roar that set forth a stream of dragon's fire across the river, splashing over the top of the towering abomination, and further still. A roar almost inhuman in its ferocity but still produced by a human voice and intentions, answered the call and charged forth on wings of steel.

No one could understand what was occurring, for most either had absolutely no idea and those few that were in the know only had the most vague of ideas. No, only the Master of the Beast knew what the Berserker had done, what the abomination could not achieve even if it was to reach full realization into this material plane. The ancient tales of knights and dragons were not forgotten and the actions of the Berserker were deeply modernized, it followed the same ancient formula of yesteryears. The knight had cast forth a challenge to a dragon, but such a fight was made worse not by the classifications of the Servants. What did it matter, their classes when it was they who were the force of reckoning on this battleground? Berserker or Beast, knight or dragon, it did not matter when one saw deep beneath the masks and saw them for who they were.

Lancelot of the Lake as the Blackened Knight of Camelot, the Betrayer of King Arturia, the Berserker of the Holy Grail War…

Against Y Ddraig Goch as the Red Dragon of Wales, the Benefactor of King Arturia, the Beast of the Holy Grail War.

And knowing this, Arthur L. Kuromori, Master of the Beast, the One Who Sees had only one thing to say

"Well isn't that just fantastic…"

* * *

><p>STATISTICS<p>

**Class:** Beast  
><strong>Identity:<strong> Y Ddraig Goch the Red Dragon of Wales**  
>Basic Stats:<strong>  
><em>Alignment:<em> Chaotic Neutral  
><em>Noble Phantasms: <em>EX_  
>Strength:<em> EX  
><em>Endurance:<em> A  
><em>Agility:<em> C  
><em>Mana: <em>EX_  
>Luck:<em> D

**Class Skills:  
><strong>_Independent Action:_ EX_  
>Magic Resistance:<em> B++  
><em>Presence Concealment:<em> Unknown*

**Personal Skills:  
><strong>_Battle Continuation: _A  
><em>Instinct:<em> A  
><em>Monstrous Strength:<em> EX  
><em>Prana Burst (Flames):<em> A++  
><em>Draconian Dominium:<em> A+++  
><em>The Standards of a Connoisseur (Spirits):<em> A_  
><em>  
><strong>Noble Phantasms:<strong>  
><em>Suspencion of Disbelief: Seeing is Believing:<em> N/A  
><em>The Linked Chains of Agony: Mother Nature's Sympathy:<em> A  
><em>Dragon's Breath: The Desecrating Flames of Ruin:<em> A+

**_Exposition:_**  
><em>Draconian Dominium:<em> Being one of the few dragons of legend who was not slain and instead lived for several centuries to be a body of prophecy that brought an even greater legend into being, Y Ddraig Goch is the most powerful example of his race and nigh unkillable even with the strongest of modern and ancient magics. Only weapons with a long history of dragonslaying are capable of injurying him but to kill him would require a mortal blow made within the first five minutes of the battle's start otherwise victory is far from assured.

_The Standards of a Connoisseur (Spirits):_ Having impeccable tastes for only the finest of wines and other such alcoholic drinks, one cannot accept anything less than the finest of spirits. Due to his high rank Y Ddraig Goch is not only easily susceptible to being distracted by potent drinks but is fully capable of being knocked out after several barrels' worth of drink.

_Suspension of Disbelief: Seeing is Believing:_ An Anti-Unit Noble Phantasm possessed by all Phantasmal Beasts in the modern world. Variable in strength and power by the Phantasmal Beasts in question and the nature of those surrounding them. In the case of Y Ddraig Goch, mundanes cannot perceive him at all while Mages and Servants can but only so long as they are aware of his presence, or are in possession of Mystic Eyes. If he is hidden by some means or is not in their direct line-of-sight, his presence cannot be perceived even under the most direct of circumstances.

_The Linked Chains of Agony: Mother Nature's Sympathy:_ Like _Suspension of Disbelief_, it is a Anti-Army Noble Phantasm that is constantly active and is similar in nature to the Frankenstein Monster's own _Scream of the False Lifeform_ insomuch that its strength is variable by Y Ddraig Goch's injuries. At its weakest, it sends a pinnacle of matched pain to all whom hear it. At its strongest… plants wither, animals drop dead where they stand… and children are born still as stone…

_Dragon's Breath: The Desecrating Flames of Ruin:_ An Anti-Army Noble Phantasm, _Dragon's Breath_ is, as its name emplies, a blast of flames hot even to melt ordinary steel at its lowest temperature. The colors of the flames vary upon temperature and can be fired in either a stream exceeding a city block or condensed balls of plasma that can travel several miles and explode upon contact.


	7. Blackened Waters

DISCLAIMER: All copyrighted materials belong to their respected owners.

* * *

><p>Following in the trend of many other authors, <span>From a Dusty Attic<span> is a series of could-have-been & just-might-be stories. Some will be epic in sheer length and might be moved to their own one-shot, others just short enough to be called a chapter. All are open for adoption on the condition of asking first and if some garnish enough popularity, I may flesh them out into longer stories or at least add an additional scene or two. In any case, the dust and cobwebs have been wiped away so without further ado, I hope that you all enjoy:

* * *

><p><strong><span>From a Dusty Attic<span>**

By Corvus no Genmu

* * *

><p>"<em>Blackened Waters<em>"

He wasn't hunting her. Not in the strictest sense of the word for if he was she'd surely have been swallowed down and forgotten like prior meals. He had no intention of eating her, which made this sudden urge to stalk her from a distance all the more confounding for him. He held little love for those who shared the blood of the Slayers in their veins even diluted as it is amongst her kindred. Such small affection did he have for her kindred that he made it a point to never attack a settlement lest they strike at him first. If they did…

Well, there was no need to worry for a second attempt made at his life.

Or want of food for that matter…

Still, the question remained to be asked, what in the name of the Elders was he doing? He was following what was at best a small snack for reasons he, as of yet, could not fully explain. A small snack that could very easily become an incredibly large nuisance depending on the size of her kindred's settlement and how important she was to them. So why bother with this needless trailing? It wasn't her spark, for hers was no different than any other of her kindred. It couldn't have been her appearance either despite the vivid brightness of her hair, color the likes of which he hadn't seen since he staked a claim in this part of the deeper depths, it was a shade that attracted a gaze but did not warrant its continuation.

Then he heard it again.

Her Voice.

Yes, such a marvelous sound it was that to label it so simply as a voice would be a gross injustice to the wondrous melody her every word invoked. She was speaking more to herself than any of the deep dwellers who she wrongfully thought would offer some salvation to her, show to her a secreted pathway back into brighter waters. He could not make out her words but he could feel the despair in them, which became all the more evident with the sound of her weeping.

He eased forward from behind her chosen refuge for the night. He smelled her taste on the cold currents and lapped at his jaws unwittingly. It had been a while since he last dined… but no. Curiosity was not a common vice in his kindred but even a monster such as he could wonder at what kind of happenstance brought a bright-water dweller down to the deeper depths. He came up just behind her refuge, great eyes narrowed and massive jaw set in a deep scowl as crocodilian claws raised up slowly to grasp—

A flash!

He reared back, surprised at the sudden intensity even from so far away. No mere light but a _power_ to make even an Elder pause in concern. Such a thing could not, _should not_, be here in these abysmal waters. Crimson light ignited in his eyes whilst lightning danced along his massive form as his curiosity was washed away beneath a tide of fury. Such an encroachment, such a call for challenge, would not go unanswered and as he reared back to answer in kind, his anger was brought to a jarring halt not just by her Voice but her words as well.

_The Trident…?_

A slow blink as the gears continued turning towards an even more startling realization.

_Daddy?!_

By the time he had collected his wits, she had already gone back the way she had come. He followed from just above the luminous forest with his spines scraping lightly against the rocky ceiling above. He hid his own natural ambience of his dorsal spikes but could do nothing for the reddish glow of his eyes though their shine was nowhere near as bright as they had been but moment's ago. He watched as parent and child were reunited and listened to the question he himself would have asked of her. What brought her to these depths, so far away from home?

She did not speak, much to his pity, but she did answer all the same by extending her arm forward to reveal—

_A trinket?_

Her father bellowed with fury and from their hidden observer's hood tightened in disdain. Little love for the Slayers aside, such objects did not warrant such a reaction. Shiny yes but it was hardly deadly. She spoke in her defense, her Voice ringing pleasantly in his ears and he realized just what kind of monster her parent was, to make a youngling find the darkness of the deeper depths a safer refuge than her own home.

Then he spotted a deeper dweller, a leftover from his last hunt. So this was where it had run off to... Reptilian orbs narrowed at the leftover's words, so assured that there was no means to leave the deeper depths yet it was not fear from predation that voiced the statement. What was it that did? The father ignored the leftover for what it was and took youngling to him as she grasped her pet tightly to her own chest. The Trident flared with _power_ and it took every bit of self-control to not react to such an open display of hostility in the heart of his territory.

That was when he spotted it.

The raging whirlpool that appeared from the opening of massive, fanged jaws and any self-control he possessed was immediately forgotten with three simple words.

Intruder!

_Fight!_

**_KILL!_**

He shot downwards in a twisting charge embraced by the serpentine coils of lightning that sparked and roasted the leftover to a crisp as it sought refuge from a confrontation of titans. A ball of electricity shot forth from his jaws and impacted into the center of the swirling vortex. A pained scream and the whirlpool ceased its motions as its source unburied itself from the ocean floor. Massive needle-like teeth bared themselves up at an enraged reptilian as amphibian limbs pushed the heaving body up from the crusted oceanic floor. The leviathans began to circle each other, one with amber eyes aglow and rubbery body inflating to maximum size while the other's red eyes burned in the abysmal waters as lightning continued to dance along his sinuous form. The intruder was still much smaller, just barely half his own gargantuan size, but made up for it by possessing a mouth that equaled three-fourths of its own body with an obscene number of teeth. Were he younger, when his scales still shone azure, he'd have been worried for those teeth, the paralytic spines popping up along its back even more so.

Now?

Now he was amused.

And hungry…

A blast of lightning down its gullet is all that it takes to finish it. Despite the rubbery texture to its flesh, lightning does as much harm to it as any other who was not born from its good graces. The corpse has barely finished its death throws before he's upon it, jaws ripping free the malleable flesh and swallowing it down. The barbs at the back shatter and are grounded by his fangs, the venom adding a delightful zing to his palette but they do little to deter him in his meal.

The quiet of the deeper depths made him pause. The absence of vivid red made him turn to the opening that led to brighter waters. Something small and sparkling in the ambient light of his spines slowly sank before his eyes. The golden trinket was now open and free from its embrace upon a pale Slayer wrist.

Crimson eyes looked once more to the opening in the perpetual darkness of the abysmal depths.

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><p>In those first several days, he was blinded.<p>

Hard not to be when one's eyes have grown so accustomed to the blackness that the natural light of the sun burns like fire upon unprepared orbs. His agonized howls scare the prey away, which does little to improve upon his soured mood. Not that there was much sustenance to be found in what barely equated as a bite-sized snack. When his sight is restored enough that he can see the world he had left behind.

He finds himself impressed with his tracking abilities.

Blind enough to collide into more than a small grouping of stone islands and crops of corral, too many new and old scents to taste let alone distinguish from _delish_ to _squeamish_, and yet when the world finally begins to clear and make some bit of sense again, the first thing he finds waiting for him is her.

Well… not waiting for him per say but he finds her easily enough with her quiet humming as she peruses through the wreckage of a Slayer's ship. A carrier and one that had meant an unfortunate end by one such as he by blood or by nature it did not matter. There was no mistaking the claw marks or the bumps of buried bones beneath the sandy floor.

Another curiosity to this little thing…

What was it she sought here in this place of destruction and death? She carried with her only a solitary satchel so no weapons of sharpened edge made from the robbed corpses of his kinfolk both below and above the sea. Yet there was a method to her madness, for none of her people traveled these waters if the only scents carried on the currents were those of the scavenging carnivores and the blood-driven hunters. She was looking for something in the wreckage, a pattern to her motions born from prior experience in seeking treasures from above the waters. Yet still the question remained.

What was she looking for?

Whatever it was, it must have been something profound if her ecstatic exclamation was anything to go by. Clutching her freshly filled sack tightly to her chest, she exited the wreck and made for the local landmass. So caught up in her excitement, she never once saw the leviathan floating nearby, watching her with crimson eyes aglow with their own inner light.

But her little companion did.

A fish, small enough that it couldn't even serve as a monetary snack. It remained quivering in the clawed opening of the ship, little eyes large and unblinking while its mouth flapped uselessly. He gave the fish and cursory glance, wondering whether it was a pet or a means of distracting potential predators, before he turned away and slowly followed after his latest curiosity.

He wondered at her going towards land, thinking perhaps that some outcast of her kin had settled closer to the shores than the rest of her people. Not once did he consider that she would willingly enter the territory of the Slayers for surely anyone who knew of their ways would willingly go to them.

So entrenched was he in these thoughts he never saw how the little guppy had suddenly become alive again and was making a frantic swim the opposite way towards an ignorant father.

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><p><strong>Author's Note:<em><br>_**

I'm writing this note to formally announce my dedicating myself to writing professionally, something that I have been doing for the better part of the last two years but am only now truly stating to you all, my dear readers. That and I have recently established for myself a professional blog to host the beginning chapters of original works I've created thus far, including one such story that I hope to be the start of a series of short stories I've entitled as Growing Up Monstrous. The link for my blog can be found at my author's page entitled as "Bibliotheca Somniare Corvus".

I thank all my readers and fans of my works for if not for your kind words and fantastic works of your own, I would never have found myself where I am today.

Also, one final thing... This note and its contents will be **deleted** upon the next update of this story, so please refrain from posting any reviews to its contents. I welcome any questions or concerns just do try and express them through my PM.


	8. Drabbles of a Dragon Commander

**DISCLAIMER:** All copyrighted materials belong to their respected owners.

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><p><strong>AUTHOR'S NOTES:<strong>

First off, let me introduce this author's note by saying that yes, I am indeed back but, no, I shall not be updating as frequently as I had once upon a time. This is primarily because of my working on finishing a novel that I hope to see published by the end of the year of which you can read the opening chapter in a prospective film format on my writer's portfolio website, which can be found through the links page of my blog, Bibliotheca Somniare Corvus. A direct link to my blog can be found on my author's page where I invite everyone to read my bi-daily postings on the likes of Disney Villains and whatever latest film happens to catch my fancy enough to write a review for it.

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><p><strong><span>From a Dusty Attic<span>**

By Corvus no Genmu

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><p>"<em>Drabbles of a Dragon Commander<em>"

In the mirror, he saw a man, obsidian hair brushed back and garbed in overly elegant attire that was both royally formal and fully prepared for an inevitable battle on the fields of war. At his back, glowering down upon the pathetic wretch that was his human half is his true form. Not fully a dragon nor fully a human, but a strangely amazing mixture of the two that was neither one nor the other. A Dragon Knight as the intelligent races named his breed, at least those of kinder tongue.

Did that really make him so worthy of being an emperor?

Not just his species but by his very blood, the blood of a murdered king who had cheated on his own queen to sire a son with a dragon in disguise? He had never come to personally know either of them for neither had a hand in raising him. His birth mother had been murdered almost within days following his hatching and to protect him from further murderous machination he had been given to those he still referred to as his parents despite whatever the wizard Maxos said otherwise of the fact.

Blood might make a family but so too does the heart and though his went out to his birth parents, what right did he have to try and reclaim a throne? Because his human father was a king and his draconic mother was… what an emissary of her people, rare and illustrious though they might be? Because it was his older half-siblings who had done the deed in murdering the king and even now were at each other's throats? Is it because demonic madness was evident in all three of them and that he, the spared child, would make the better ruler despite his own inhumanity, physical though it was? He had not yet faced any of them personally on the fields of battle but as the wizard forewarned, he had earned their attention.

The commander wondered again at the human image in the reflecting glass and wondered if it was because of this weak and pathetic form that he had to endure such displeasure that was being both a commander and a conquering emperor. His generals, four in all with three being human and the fourth of the lizard race, were like teenagers clawing over each other for top spot on the metaphorical totem pole though none held any rank or sway over the others.

Though if he were honest with himself, it wasn't quite fair of him to throw the younger Scarlett in amongst the greater headaches that were her fellow generals. Yet even he, for all his draconic patience, could stand her foolhardy attempts at denying the obvious for so long. Honestly, he had only passed the rights for marriage to all, regardless of race or gender, just so she could stop beating around the bloody bush about her own sexual orientation, interesting though it likely would be to hear of her past and future escapades.

Really, the girl was just so damn excitable that it was frightening at how easily she could make him smile never mind breaking down into loud guffaws once out of everyone's earshot.

As to the remaining three… Henry was a general of the former emperor and did not hesitate in comparing father and son at every opportunity and Catherine was a former queen herself and one of a matriarchal country so her hypocrisy was as rampant as her tongue was sharp against all things male. He'd have tossed them both in a room and locked the door just to spare his ears from their irritating voices if he didn't think he would end up losing two generals for the attempt.

Then there was his personal favorite of his three less favored generals. The lizard Edmund whose ego was perhaps outmatched only by Catherine's feministic animosity but only by a margin so slim as to almost be nonexistent. Catherine at least made men twice her size break down and cry while Edmund managed to anger anything and everything with a lick of sensibility to them. It was amazing as it was frightening that the insufferable know-it-all was the one general the commander could easily get along with…

Of course, what emperor is without a council? Each and every one of them almost an anthropomorphic representation of the politic aspects that their individual race virtually proclaims dominion over. A council consisting of five of the six ruling races of the world as, according to Maxos, the half-dragon commander represented the human side of the equation and so no human emissary was necessary.

It was hard to tell whether it was senility or a strange form of racism that allowed Maxos to make such demented leaps of judgment.

"At least that damnable wizard can't possibly make my life any more difficult than it already is…" he muttered before exiting his chambers and heading to the bridge of the Raven for what could only be another eventful day of conquest.

Oh but if the commander had known… He'd have the wizard burned at the stake for the madness that was to follow.

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><p><em>I should have killed him. I should have killed him the first time he had shown his bearded mug, awesome ship or not! <em>

The Dragon Commander stood in his throne room, his hands clasped at his back as he regarded the ten dignitaries before him, five of which were members of his own council and the remainder princesses of their respected races. Brides-to-be at his choosing and yet not for he had could not deny them in their entirety. Not unless he wanted to deal with the political fallout that Maxos had so expertly trapped him in.

_He even had the gall to compare me to Edmund! That I hold no love for anyone that isn't a part of my race! Bah! He delights in calling me dragon at every opportunity and chooses **now** to mention my human half? _Were he in his true form, the emperor had no doubt that smoke would have blackened the ceiling by now. He took a deep breath and released it slowly, a faint glow of draconic fire deep in his throat as he exhaled. He regarded the princesses standing beside their respected councilors. He had heard all that they had to say for themselves and was giving them each a final lookover before he made his "choice" to Maxos.

The undead princess Ophelia… He wondered again at the oddity that there was such a number to them that the undead could be counted as a "race" given that they were made up almost entirely by the races of man, elf, and the occasional dwarf. Looking at the fair Ophelia, her skull hidden beneath a dark cowl, his eyes narrowed. Too quick for any of the dignitaries to notice, his pupils thinned to draconian slits and he saw the disease that was ravaging the living bones before him.

_So… the undead can die after all…_ He closed his eyes with a small sigh. Much as he felt for her plight, he would not marry an undead. Never mind the sheer perversity of the act but the idea of sharing his bed with what was, quite literally, a skeleton… _Brrrr!_

The dwarven princess Aida… Humorously taller than Felstaff and arguably well… ahem… blessed amongst the princesses. Still, Aida was no less a dwarf for her sharp tongue and mountainous greed. She had all but proclaimed her desire to marry him for his upcoming status as emperor of the world and his draconic power. And yet…

_She is damaged. Not physically but her heart is trapped in poisonous barbed wire._ He could see it even without dragon's sight and he despaired for her. _Whatever her father had done to her… has made her dangerous both to herself and to others. Her hatred for him will do her no good._

The lizard princess Camilla, who aside from her royal duties served as Chief Justice of the Supreme Court in her native lands. Impressive but hardly surprising given the pragmatic lizards…

_I appreciate her honesty as well,_ his lips twitched as he fought down a smile, _I can hardly be blamed for turning her down when she herself is both unwilling and uncaring in joining me in holy matrimony. Besides…_ He frowned the slightest bit, a faint draconic growl echoing in the recesses of his soul._ I dare not imagine what our children would look like… Dragon and lizard indeed!_

Let it never be denied that a dragon's pride would swallow so poor a comparison.

Then there was the last of the princesses, Lohannah of the elves. While he had little affection for Oberon, for surely no other grown man could reach the whining pitch of a child, the Commander had to admit that the man was quite astute in her description. She was truly the most beautiful of the princesses but whereas the man spoke entirely of her appearance, the Dragon Commander was referring to something deeper than the skin.

_The undead spoke of destiny by the gods, the dwarf of power, the lizard of politics… but it is the elf that speaks of love being the reason for a union between us. That love should be my reason for taking her hand in mine._ That she would actually say she'd rather not be chosen at all if not because of the chance at love impressed him greatly, especially considering the scathing looks she received from most others in the room. She truly and honestly cared for him not for his status as emperor or his being a Dragon Knight but because of who he is and what he was setting out to do for the world and its various peoples. True hers was a smitten love, one born of tales told and pictures seen but even in the presence of the real thing she did not falter on her stance.

Maxos had said that love had very little to do with his marriage but perhaps it would be best if he were proven wrong.

And the Dragon Commander did so delight in proving that wizard wrong…

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><p>"Commander, a matter has arisen that impels me to seek your benevolence! Once more, a young girl is made to suffer at the hands of male overlords!"<p>

The Dragon Commander wondered, not for the first time, if he drank enough alcohol that he could be spared the trials and tribulations of his general, Catherine. Unfortunately, he knew that no such elixir existed in this or any world that could make a dragon knight drunk enough to be excused at hearing his feministic general's latest tirade against male oppression. At least her issues were valid in their concerns though she did her best to bury them with an ever sharp and poisonous tongue.

"It's these horrid arranged marriages! Long have they been a thorn in my side, and now one of your own councilors, that toad of a Trinculo, is giving away his daughter like she were a pretty piece of furniture, to some decrepit old duke because the alliance will benefit him financially."

The Dragon Commander was far from surprised by this and crossed his arms, waiting for the barb that he knew was coming and, like always, preparing to let it slide harmlessly off his skin like fire on a dragon's scales.

"The girl's twelve, for Seven's sake, and that grey goat she must marry a hundred if he's a day! It's detestable, it's vile… but oh, why am I even talking to you? You're just the same—picked the princess that sat on the biggest pot of gold and moved on! Well I've had it! That girl in your chamber is beyond saving but—"

The sound of punctured steel echoed in the startled and frightened silence that followed in the wake of that declaration. The Dragon Commander stood before Catherine as he had been, still firmly clothed in his human form save for his eyes that shone with draconic intensity as he slowly removed his clenched fist from the steel wall of the cantina. Smoke wafted from his clenched teeth as the back of his throat burned with the shimmering light of draconic fire. To her credit, Catherine remained standing with her ever-present glare firmly set upon her face though a bead of sweat trailed down from her scalp.

"With. Me. Catherine." He growled at the former queen. Without another word, he turned and made his way through the ship, crewman scattering like frightened mice at his approach as Catherine followed in his wake, head held high even as Scarlet watched worryingly whilst Henry hummed a funeral song. Edmund took another drink of his brandy and continued reading his latest correspondence, uncaring for anything else beyond the words scribed upon the parchments.

The Dragon Commander led her into Maxos' library and was glad to find the wizard absent as he stood before the lit fireplace, the flames doing little to cool his own temper though the hypnotic dance aided his control in maintaining his human form. He remained glaring at the flames until the door slid shut behind Catherine and when he spoke, it was with a faint growl of the dragon in his blood.

"Let me make one thing perfectly clear to you Catherine. You can gripe about your fellow generals who have their own fair share of problems on and off this ship, you can snipe about the politicians whose company I'm delighted to depart after every ungodly meeting, and you can even bitch all that you want of me, my decisions, and even my gender. But if there is one thing that I will not abide from you are any barbarous words spoken of my wife. While you were there at my wedding, you were most certainly not there to hear the princesses speak with me on the joys of our union."

He heard her scoff quietly but chose to ignore it as he continued.

"Contrary to what you might assume, Lohannah offered her hand to me willingly and gladly because of love. An affection she had grown from seeing my portrait and hearing of my deeds but one she wanted to nourish into something more. She stated with utmost conviction that it should be that same desire that guides my heart to hers only and if I had other reasons to beguile my decision, then she would rather not be chosen at all. She said this in front of her fellow ladies of royalty, in front of politicians, who all scoffed at the very idea of love in a marriage outside of the peasantry. And do you know the first action I undertook on the day of our marriage?"

He turned to Catherine then, the fire gone from his throat but the draconic rage still in his eyes.

"I commissioned that a chamber be made for her aboard the Raven, equal if not greater than my own so that she could take comfort in a place so far from the familiarities of her home and so that she might be assured with the knowledge that she was not expected to complete any form of wifely duties so long as this war continues. When she asked of me whether I would allow her to decorate the room as she saw fit, I answered by seeing to it that everything she had left behind was brought and placed in her chamber. I could not bring the entirety but I did what I could and was delighted by the joy on her face when I presented it to her anew. She can ask anything she wants of me and if it were in my power, I would see it done in an instant if not sooner just to see such happiness again."

He approached her until he was standing before Catherine, his eyes narrowed and his voice grim.

"If ever I hear another despairing word about Lohannah, regardless if it be by your tongue or another's, I will not hesitate to see them and you thrown bodily off my ship. In point of fact, it shall henceforth be your responsibility to see to it that such ill comments are never made again and that evidence of the contrary are presented with every opportunity lest I follow through on my word starting with them followed shortly by you. Do I make myself perfectly clear, Catherine?"

His glaring visage meeting her own in a stalemate of impenetrable wills that were fighting for dominance over the other until, at last, her eyes fell away from his.

"Understood."

He growled, deeply and filled with draconic ire at the unspoken challenge to his authority once more. "Understood…?"

"… My emperor."

"Better. Now get out." He turned away from her and snatched up a piece of blank parchment. "I have to see about drafting a law for consent on both parties in an arranged marriage. Perhaps even an age requirement."

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><p>It was the middle of the night when his chamber door opened. Though far from a light sleeper, the fact that it opened at all was surprising as there was only one person on aboard the Raven that could open that door and for all his strategic planning and mastery in the art of war, the Dragon Commander had no idea why she was there. In all honesty, he had expected her to try and enter his chambers on the first night of their union, but she had kept true to their mutual agreement that a honeymoon worth having was to be done in peace and not in war.<p>

So he waited in the darkness, listening as his wife's bare feet treaded lightly like the hooves of a doe upon the carpeted floor of his chamber as she made her way to his bed. She stood at his bedside in silence for a long moment and he wondered if she was planning on watching him sleep when he heard her release a trembling sigh of relief alongside a whispered elfish prayer of gratitude.

He felt her weight, far too light for anyone let alone a woman of her stature, upon the wide expanse of his bed. The sheets ruffled as she burrowed beneath them and settled herself at his side. He felt her hand reach out and clasp his wrist, tightening just enough to feel the beating of his heart. She took a shuddering breath and pressed her face against his shoulder and his eyes snapped open as he felt the salty wetness upon his bare skin.

"Lohannah?" He turned to face her and even with human eyes, he could see the tears glistening in hers.

She flinched and hastily turned away, rubbing at her eyes, "I—Forgive me, my darling, I didn't mean to disturb your slumber—"

She was silenced as his hand clasped her shoulder gently but firmly. She turned to face him as his other hand reached out to her cheek and wiped away a teardrop upon a solitary finger. He stared at the drop in silence, his eyes shifting in the darkness unseen by his wife. In it he saw that which produced it, the nightmare that awoke his wife screaming into the night.

In it, he saw himself flying back to the Raven in a scene reminiscent of this very day. Bloodied and injured but whereas he had arrived quite alive and already healing in the real world, in his wife's nightmare he had come crashing aboard the Raven… dying.

She had snuck into his chamber, into his very bed, with tears in her eyes… because she had feared him dead?

He pulled her to him and pressed his lips gently against hers. Her eyes widened but flickered close as she returned it with the same gentleness.

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><p>Scarlet looked up at her commander, eagerly awaiting his response to her words. The Dragon Commander had only just recently returned from another victorious campaign and had only just transformed back to his human guise when she had all but leapt upon him with news that she felt he needed to hear. And heard them he did and he spent a good long moment staring uncomprehendingly at her, as though her words were naught but gibberish from her tongue. To be fair, she had spoken with more than her usual rushed gusto.<p>

"… I beg your pardon but I must have misheard you. Did you say that Edmund… is in love?"

Scarlet, not trusting herself to not gush girlishly at the very idea for there was far more to it than just that, nodded.

"Edmund. He whom I'm quite sure is the dictionary definition of vanity and condescension. Is in love. More than that, the very person is not only an elf of distinction but whom also reciprocates his affections equally if not even more so?"

She nodded again.

"… I think I will first consult with Maxos on matters of possible apocalypses before speaking with Edmund."

She blinked. She hadn't honestly been expecting that. "Apocalypses, Commander?"

"Of course. If Edmund being in love is not one of the signs of an approaching doomsday, I can think of no other."

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><p>He stood in the abysmal heart of the Raven, staring at the hellish visage of the very demon that was both its heart and the very reason for his half-sibling's descent into madness. The monster was large enough to gobble the Dragon Knight whole though it was quite chained in place and obviously pained by the wizard Maxos picking at its mind. And yet here it was attempting to bargain with him, to attain for itself the nourishment it so desired.<p>

The Dragon Commander had thought Maxos mad but never would he have thought the man to be as much a fool as this demon thought him, a "mere" half-breed, to be.

The demon would grant him its powers for the dreams of his soldiers, it would offer him the favor of one of the races for the souls of another, or even grant unto him the ultimate power of demon-kind should the emperor be so kind as to offer his wife to it.

The Dragon Commander was not disgusted. He was not appalled nor was he contemplative. Why, he wasn't even afraid of this hellish monstrosity of a demonic avian. At the first offer, he was concerned. At the second offer, he had become agitated, but at the last and final one… the Dragon Commander had become angry.

No, that was too kindly phrased.

He was _pissed._

The demon's smile faltered as the emperor-to-be took his true form and went down on both knees, hands clasped tightly in prayer. "**_What…?_**"

"In nomine patris et filii et spiritus sancti…"

The demon flinched, bloodied spittle flying from its fanged mouth as it gasped in pain. "**_Not… Possible! You could not possible know—_**"

"Our Father who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name…"

The demon did something it had not done even during the agonizing torture of being bound in the heart of the ship that shared its name.

It _screamed_.

"Thy kingdom come, thy will be done on Earth as it is in Heaven…" The Dragon Knight turned his gaze upwards not to the demon, but to He who is far above. That did not stop the dragon-half from watching the demon writhe and struggle against the invisible chains that bound it.

"Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us…"

"**_STOP! I beg of you!_**" cried the demon, bloodied wounds opening across its obsidian hide that smoked as though burnt by an ethereal flame.

The Dragon Knight quieted. The demon panted for breath and watched in silence as the commander resumed his human form once more and made to leave the abysmal heart of the Raven.

"**_How… How could you know…? She had no chance to teach you the words!_**"

The emperor paused just outside the swirling portal.

"Do not presume that we are deaf to Him even in the shell, demon scum. Though I know not her face, I know the voice of my mother and the prayers she sung to me as I slept. You will not find in me the same weakness as my half-siblings and do not think them beyond saving. Now that I know of the hellish darkness that afflicts their souls, I will see to it that they are freed from your clutches and redeemed for the atrocities you bade them to commit to our father and to themselves! I _will_ bring them back into the Light even if I have to drag them the entire way."

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><p>He stood before the prison cell, looking down at the woman who writhed about on the ground as she screamed herself hoarse though she had no tongue with which to speak, to add words to her madness. She had seen to it herself on the day so long ago when she and her siblings united under a bloody banner of madness and slew their father dead before setting their sights upon each other and beginning a war the likes of which had enveloped the entirety of the world.<p>

"Leave us."

The aged wizard cleared his throat. "It would be better if—"

"As several of your suggestions have involved the murder of my siblings you'll forgive me if I ignore them from this point forward. Do not forget wizard, that I can smell the blood of my brother on your hands just as well as my father's on hers. You took my brother from me because I thought you merciful as I when clearly you are not. You have consorted too long with that demon in the heart of this ship and forget that mercy ends with life, not death. You may think me a fool but I'll be damned if I let your sin spread further by taking my sister's life because you deem it "necessary." So I say again, leave us."

Maxos' glare was like twin suns in the darkness of the prison cells and with a flash of azure light, he was gone, back to the library and his precious books that were torn free from the mind of a primordial demon of war and madness. With the wizard gone, his half-sister's wild trashing intensified and he silently thanked the crewman who had sensibly kept her arms strapped tightly within the bindings of a specially crafted jacket made and constructed with his deranged half-sister in mind.

Sybille the Silent as the people had come to call her. She who had cut out her own tongue in the vain hope of silencing the voices babbling in her mind and even now continued to scream for their silence in the presence of her young half-brother. At his approach, the cell door slid open and Sybille's gaze turned to him, eyes wide with madness and fear. She lunged at him but the chain that bound her to the wall pulled itself taught and she bit harmlessly down about the air in front of his nose.

He didn't even flinch at her blatantly obvious attack and merely watched in silence as she exhausted herself trying to attack him until she sunk to her knees, panting for breath as her long tresses of ebony hair pooled about her. He had no idea what to say, what to do, to try and alleviate her pain but he knew a good place to start.


	9. High School DxS

**DISCLAIMER:** All copyrighted materials belong to their respected owners.

**Author's Note: **A tongue-in-cheek nod of appreciation towards one of the best crossover stories I've ever read.

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><p><strong>From a Dusty Attic<strong>

By Corvus no Genmu

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><p><em>High School DxS<em>

Issei never admitted to being the sharpest crayon in the box. In point of fact, he'd go so far as to say that there were a few tools missing in the shed that was his noggin, particularly in the affairs of devils and their like. To be fair, he had been an average, if not extremely perverted, young man before being thrust bloodied heart first into the world of the supernatural, so it wasn't entirely his fault that he was learning something new on an almost daily basis. Yet even one of Issei's limited social skills beyond the hentai hordes and works of erotic fiction, Issei knew that there was something odd with how Rias and the others of her peerage were acting. Well, the others save for Asia whom was also showing signs of the same confusion as he.

Their trek up the mountain path had started well enough, if one excludes the monstrous weight of the pack he was forced to carry whence compared to the tiny and almost nonexistent one of the fair blonde Asia, but it slowly started to change the further they went up. In his exhaustion, Issei had almost missed it but it was thanks to his tiredness that he had literally walked right into it. A wooden sign, simple in make but the words scribed upon it were written in strange, almost luminous, blue ink.

"Turn back to be damned, continue on towards freedom?" He read. Rias kept walking but even Issei's eyes, specifically trained to scope out a woman's three sizes in a short glance, could see the slight stiffening of her shoulders.

It did wonders for her breasts after all.

One mild delusion of perversion and several more steps later, it was Asia who read the second sign.

"If you seek liberation, continue. If you seek enslavement, go find a stick and… oh my!" Asia's face flushed red as she squirmed with Issei's hands covering her eyes, "Issei-kun, what—?"

"Uh… let's keep moving…"

He hadn't even known that was physically possible to do with a stick… Never mind the other stuff…

Apparently it was if the looks on the others were anything to go by. Rias was merely increased her pace her face strangely emotionless now as she continued on ahead. Just a ways behind her, Akeno's usual smile was absent and her eyes were fully opened in a frosty glare that was only a few degrees colder than Kiba's own. Koneko still had her usual emotionless façade but there was a faint gleam to her eyes that Issei guessed to be anger if the faint murderous aura surrounding her was anything to go by.

And the signs kept coming.

"I'd turn back if I were you. Especially if I had a mirror you ugly mother fu—Ah, Issei-san!"

"Redheaded Devils Beware, Bleach Ahead…?"

"Abandon all hope you who hope to trespass on stolen grounds…?"

"All of your base belongs to me…?"

"_Must_ you, Issei-kun?" Akeno snapped despite Asia being the one to have read the last sign.

Issei grumbled at the unfairness of it all and Asia, properly chastised though no harsh words or glares were sent her way, murmured her apologies. They continued on in silence for a while but another sign soon cropped upon them and Issei just could not refrain from reading it aloud.

"Beware of Mouse…?"

Rias unleashed a wordless shriek and all but flew up the stairs in an enraged dash. Startled cries of "Buchou!" followed her as her Peerage gave chase, some more easily than others. By the time Issei had caught up to the others, he was sweating bullets and two heaving gasps away from fainting but the sheer oddity of it all kept him conscious. For there, in front of an enraged Rias Gremory was a large, luxurious summer home, or at least what had once been one.

A nearby gazebo had been all but buried beneath sheets of steel hammer haphazardly across it, turning it into some bizarre fusion of workman's steel and artisan's marble. Most of the house itself had been gratified with strange symbols that Issei couldn't recognize but gave him a headache looking at. Kneeling down in the front yard with his back to them was a young man dressed in overalls and a stained t-shirt, his hand working tirelessly upon the engine of a motorcycle that just had to be customized due mostly to its sheer girth.

Almost entirely black but for its shining silver engines, the front of the motorcycle bore two wheels sitting side-by-side and bore a lot of weight with what looked like several long compartments along its front. The motorcycle could almost be fit for war with sheer size alone though by its name, it might have been intended for more recreational purposes.

Issei wondered at the idea of naming a motorcycle "_Fantasy's Finale_" and instead of the traditional pin-up girl.

The biker turned to face the group, revealing strange eyes, the right of which was green while the other was blue with greenish flecks splattering across it. His blackened hair bore streaks of blonde and was brushed back along his head by either gel or oil, and as he rose to his feet, it was impossible to miss the bandages wrapped tightly about his arms and the strange bulkiness of both forearms beneath the stained wrappings.

He walked forward until he was just outside of Rias' reach and thanks to his drawing near, Issei was at last able to notice the faint sheen in the air, a thin veil like the skin of a bubble separating the summertime mansion from them. The two teenagers stood staring at one another in long silence, one with emerald orbs angry but containing something almost like sadness while the other were glaring and spiteful.

"So are we going to play the same song and dance or can we just cut to the chase this time?" He asked and left her no time to answer by continuing, "Because if you have a different reason for trespassing, speak up or go back to the pit you crawled out of."

He delighted at the hurt that flashed across her face and the angry glares that arose from her Peerage.

"Hey who do you—!" Koneko's firm hand gripping his own stopped Issei mostly because he was too busy trying not to squeal in sheer agony as the small girl's fingers sought the total obliteration of his own.

"Lorne…" Rias' eyes turned downcast but she firmed her resolve as she did something Issei never expected her to do. She got down on both knees and kowtowed to the young man before her. "… I'm here to beg for your help."

Lorne stared at her in openmouthed astonishment but quickly snapped his hanging jaw close. Much as every fiber of his being wanted to violently throttle his own throat for even harboring the thought, he was curious as to what could possibly make Rias Gremory forget her dignity as a devil. He had told her once that he wouldn't care for anything she had to say even if she came to him on hands and knees begging for his help. Honestly, he had thought the Apocalypse was going to occur before she would sink so low as to bow to one who was, by all accounts, a spiteful and disobedient—

"If you compete in the Rating Game scheduled ten days from now with the rest of my Peerage… I will release you."

Several pairs of eyes snapped to Rias at the whispered proclamation that resounded like thunder across the open grounds of the former Gremory summer home. Akeno was gaping in disbelief and Koneko was so surprised that her hand relaxed enough for Issei to hastily get his own away from her and try and restore some sense of feeling to it. Asia simply looked confused and concerned while Kiba's eyes were narrowed with obvious displeasure and he continued to glare back and forth between Rias and Lorne.

As to the young man himself, Lorne felt as if the entire world had been pulled out from underneath him. His eyes had grown so wide that they looked ready to pop right out from his head and his mouth felt incredibly dry and was made worse when he tried to swallow the lump in his throat.

"What… What did you say?" He rubbed at his chest, wincing at the distortion of energies residing within. _I can really be…_

"I, Rias Gremory, swear to release you from my Peerage as a free devil."

He blinked and his longing snapped to such inhuman fury that it was a miracle that the earth between the two hadn't been ignited by the burning intensity of his glare.

"Excuse me? I think you forgot to mention the part where I'm turned human again."

Rias looked up, a frown on her beautiful face, "You know that I can't do that. It's impossible to undo a devil resurrection."

"Then you make it possible!" He yelled. "What good is my freedom if I'm still a damned devil?!"

"Do you have _any_ idea what I had to do, what I went through, to even okay the _possibility_ of releasing you?!" She shouted right back, rising to her feet with an angry glare of her own. "Never mind making sure that you weren't marked as a stray devil and _executed_ because of your childish behavior!"

"You—YOU!" Lorne's eyes narrowed further, grinding his teeth as he fought the urge to use every foul word his godfather had ever taught him, willingly or unknowingly. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly several times before he spoke again. "… So. I help you win your freedom, and I get mine. Is that right?"

"Yes." Rias nodded.

"And… what? You want me to train your merry band of slaves between now and the Game?" He asked, looking over the rest of Rias' Peerage with a critical glare and muttered breaths.

Rias shook her head. "That's not necessary but—"

"Oh, I disagree." Lorne interrupted, "Your "Heavenly Dragon" there just proved his has all the strength of a wet paper bag if he's that out of breath from climbing up a hill."

"Hey!" Issei protested, trying and failing to look intimidating beneath the hundred plus pounds of weight on his back. _Hill? It was a freaking mountain!_

"Your Pussycat there is still missing her claws and keeps refusing to find them, the Tin-man carries a double-edged sword in his heartless grasp, and your Black Queen still wears her crown of thorns. As for you…" He looked over Asia, who meeped in surprise and straightened under his sudden scrutiny. He mumbled something under his breath before he shook his head. "A White Mage with next to no stamina. Might as well get that wedding dress fitted, Devil Princess. You'll be walking down the aisle sooner than you think."

"You sound confident but things are different now then they were then, Lorne-san." Akeno said, her eyes opened and glaring. "We have grown stronger since last we met."

"Yeah, keep telling yourself that if it helps you sleep at night without breaking any more dildos." Lorne snorted. "Closest you'll ever get to the real thing anyway."

Akeno's face flushed red with rage, lightning crackling in her fists but she made no move to attack Lorne, but if looks could kill, Lorne would have been nothing more than a pile of ash.

"Lorne…"

"Yeah, yeah, play nice with the other slaves…" Lorne sighed and went back to his back. Kicking up the stand, he started to bring it over to the altered gazebo. "Might as well come in then."

And just like that, the glimmering runes scribed across the mansion lost their glow with a loud crack and the protective veil vanished like a popped bubble.

"Who is this guy…?" muttered Issei to himself and was surprised to hear an answer from Kiba, whose glare had yet to leave the departing boy's back.

"His name is Lorne. He's Rias' unwilling Knight."

* * *

><p>If Issei had thought that he would be the first to be under Lorne's tutelage, he was sorely mistaken insomuch that it was not he alone. Kiba had been standing before him, both of them armed with a shinai and the Knight delivering a lecture of proper swordsmanship when Lorne had arrived on the scene also dressed in the Kuoh Academy track gym uniform minus the jacket. He had fresh bandages wrapped around his forearms but adorned to his wrists were a pair of metallic bracers that shone almost like gold.<p>

"Wow. Not even two minutes and already proving your ineptitude, Tin-man?"

Kiba's eyes narrowed further but he didn't rise to Lorne's bait as he calmly replied, "Issei needs to learn how to combat against other Knights—"

"By wielding a weapon he doesn't use, has no experience in using, and will likely get himself butchered on the battlefield if he even makes the attempt at defending himself? I'd say you were trying to ruin my chances at freedom but you care about Devil Princess more than you hate me." Lorne looked over at Issei and said, "Get out that gauntlet of yours, Frog. Let's see if we can't upgrade your title to "Salamander" sometime this next week."

Though it was quickly becoming second nature to him, Issei couldn't help but glance at the Boosted Gear upon his left arm for how quickly it had appeared or the faint, almost irritating, glow of the emerald jewel upon the back of his hand.

Lorne nodded, satisfied.

"You might as well summon something sturdier than that stick there, Tin-man. You're going to need it once I'm done with the Frog here."

"Um…" Issei hesitantly raised a hand, glancing back to make sure Asia was at least close enough to provide the medical aid he was certain he'd need quite soon. "If you're a Knight, don't you use a sword?"

"I'm not a Knight in that sense, Frog." Lorne said, "I'm more of a… innovator, when it comes to the martial arts."

He looked once more to Kiba.

"Summon a real blade or step aside, Tin-man. Either way, I'll be breaking your toys soon enough."

The wooden blade thumped against the earth before demonic steel bared its ebony fang in a tight, two-handed grip. "You're welcome to try. I think you'll need more than your fists to beat me this time."

"Ah, I was hoping you'd say that." Lorne's smile turned vicious as he cocked back both of his hands. With a faint click of shifting gears, the bracers upon his wrists suddenly lengthened and folded outwards to fall down to his elbows. The newly changed gauntlets clicked once more with another gesture, releasing something small and metallic to the ground as Lorne's grin changed into something truly monstrous.

"Let's go."

Issei blinked and realized his folly as Lorne's fist impacted hard against his sternum. If it had just been the fist itself, that would have simply been pretty painful but what followed mere milliseconds after the strike made it absolutely agonizing. A blast of pure concussive force ringing like a shotgun blast sent Issei flying across the open yard where he impacting against the trunk of a tree and hung there, gasping for breath with swirls in his eyes.

"Issei-san!" Asia started to run towards the boy when Lorne's sharp retort cut her short.

"Save your healing for later, White Mage. He's just winded." He spared Issei a glance and snorted in clear disdain. "I think I spoke too highly of him. "Tadpole" is more befitting a title for him."

"Ugh…" Issei moaned, which properly translated would be along the lines of "Screw you."

Lorne sighed, rubbing his eyes in exasperation, "If he's not out of the tree in the next three minutes, then you can heal him. I'm not wasting my whole morning waiting—"

A flash of blackened steel grinded against golden iron and sparks flew in a brief growl of combative metals. Lorne glared at Kiba in anger for a moment before he started to grin. "Attacking an opponent with their back turned and attention elsewhere… You might be made of something stronger than tin after all."

"We've three minutes." Kiba responded. "More than enough time for me to wipe that damned smirk off your face."

"Oh ho, scathing." Lorne's other fist impacted against the blade of Kiba's sword and it shattered from the force as kinetic energy exploded outwards in a burst of red. The blonde Knight slid back but remained on his feet, two new swords already in hand. "Let's see how many of your toys I can break before you put a scratch on mine, Tin-man."

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><p>By the time afternoon rolled about, there was over a dozen Issei-shaped dents littered all over the grounds and more than twice that in vanishing sword fragments. Issei's bruises were already being healed away by Asia but it did nothing for his exhaustion. Issei lay half dead on the ground while Kiba was merely winded and sweating slightly with the same heated glare on his face. For his part, Lorne was sweating slightly but his devil-may-care smirk had yet to leave his face as he watched Asia heal Issei.<p>

"This is what they call killing two birds with one stone. We toughen up the Tadpole's stamina and we increase the White Mage's healing speed at the same time."

"Lorne… just what are those things?" Rias asked, carefully eyeing the gauntlets glimmering on his forearms.

"Just another of my projects," he said, pumping his arms and releasing two dozen used shells before inserting a new belt into each gauntlet with practiced ease. Another twist of the wrists turned them both back into bracers and he glanced at Rias. "What, did you think I spent every day cursing your name and praying for my Lady to strike you dead where you stood? Well, I do but that's only once in the morning after breakfast and again in the evening before bed. I've got more important things to do than to have thoughts of you ruining my day for the rest of my damned life."

"H-Hey…!" gasped Issei, trying and failing to look intimidating as he panted for breath, sitting up despite Asia's protests that she hadn't finished healing him.

"Is for horses, Tadpole. Rest up. You both have lessons with the Pussycat over there next followed by the Black Queen. If you're weren't devils already, I'd say you two were all set for a one way trip straight to Hell."

"We have names you know," said Akeno, her eyes open and her usual smile frostier than normal. "You could try calling us by them."

"Alright then. You two, go with Shirone there and—" Lorne started to say when a fist gripped the lapels of his shirt tightly, bringing him forcibly down to his tiny attacker's level.

"Where. Did. You. Hear. That. Name?" Her voice hadn't raised but there was no missing the anger in the usual emotionless Koneko's voice.

"Quite amazing isn't it?" asked Lorne in turn, "The things you see when you actually open your eyes and look eh, Pussycat?"

Koneko's ire, if anything, rose to even higher heights, but was quelled only slightly by Rias.

"Lorne," said Rias, putting a hand upon the petite girl's shoulder to try and get her to relax as she glared at Lorne. "That's enough. You can say all that you want about me but I will not stand idly by and let you bully the others in my presence."

"Really." Lorne snorted in disbelief as he stood up from Koneko's iron grip. "And when they voice their opinions of me, am I to be given the same treatment? Will I be protected from their hatred and their scorn?"

"Yes."

He blinked. He hadn't expected her to answer so quickly, without any hesitation, let alone in the affirmative.

"… Fine. Whatever. I reserve the right to be a complete and utter bastard during training. It's the only way to get the Pet Cat and the Tin Soldier to put any kind of effort into it," he said before turning and walking back to the mansion.

"… Can't I just—"

"No, Akeno…"

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><p>It was late into the night. Most of the others had long since retired for a good night's rest but Lorne never said that he was the same as them. For one thing, he still didn't trust them not to seek some form of vengeance in the middle of the night despite the numerous traps and fail safes he had secured about his room. Secondly, it was kind of hard to sleep when he was busy with more important things like reviewing the strengths and weaknesses of Riser Feenix's Peerage. This in itself was made more difficult by the fact that he was doing this with Rias Gremory, whose bespectacled gaze kept drifting away from her own paper copies to him with growing frequency.<p>

He was deciding whether or not he leave the room when she spoke up in a quiet whisper. "Why do you hate me so much?"

Lorne blinked and looked up at her. "All this time and you're asking _now?_"

"I thought that I knew why but… every time I think that I have you figured out, you surprise me. You are rude to the others at best and cruelly antagonistic at worst but you don't hurt them beyond their pride and you give them a stronger drive to succeed even if it's aimed towards beating you. Even Issei, for all the damage you've dealt him, has come out stronger for it."

Lorne scoffed at that idea but said, "So damned insightful and you still don't know why I hate you? Are you thick in the head or are you blind to your own nature as a devil?"

Rias didn't answer, she had learned long ago that it was Lorne's way of instigating hatred and anger. Baiting his victims until all that they cared about was smashing his face to the ground and forgetting whatever mysteries he let slip through his barbwire guard.

Lorne snorted at her silence and leaned back into his chair.

"You are a selfish person, Rias Gremory. You could have approached Issei and offered him a place on your Peerage, and I'm more than sure he would have leapt at the chance to join especially if you mentioned the possibility of him attaining a harem. Yet you allowed him to die right at your feet so that he could not refuse you, so that he would have no choice but to accept his role as your Pawn. You did the same for Asia. Worse, you set it up so that Issei would feel indebted to you as a result and wouldn't question your hesitation in rescuing an innocent girl or even his own damned self."

"That is not true." Even whispered quietly, Rias felt the weakness in her own words.

"Isn't it? Can you tell me honestly that you would have approached Issei and offered him the chance at a choice? Would you have willingly gone to save Asia _before_ she had been killed and offered the same knowing full well that she would have refused you? When you came upon me, and the destruction and death that surrounded me, did you not think even for a moment of the power that I must possess and how it could also be yours?"

The memory arose to the forefront of her mind. The abandoned church grounds at the edge of her territory, turned into a warzone. The graveyard miraculously untouched but everything else lay as pieces broken and scattered. The church itself nothing more than crumbling stones, and the bodies that lay where they had fallen in battle. Blood colored the earth red and stank the air with its coppery scent but could not quell the wretchedness of death. Most of the bodies were impossible to identify, either broken beyond recognition or in such small pieces it was impossible to guess what the whole had been, but one thing was certain.

Only one body amongst them, whole and virtually untouched but for the gaping hole where a heart once lay, had been human.

"You are a devil." Lorne said, shaking Rias free from her memories of the past. "You are by your own nature, a devious and selfish creature. The very core of your entire being is run solely on Desire. If there is something that you covet, you see to it that it becomes yours no matter the harm you inflict, physical or otherwise."

"… Is that why you hate me then? Because I didn't offer you a choice?"

Lorne shook his head, laughing quietly to himself. "You just don't get it. You're young, especially by the standards of your own kind. You haven't begun to question the meaning of your own existence."

Rias blinked. "The meaning of my existence?"

"More specifically… what becomes of you, the you that is Rias Gremory, upon death? Do you know?"

She didn't answer, which was answer enough for Lorne.

"You don't go to Hell and you certainly don't go to Heaven. Your soul simply rests, awash in the Great Sea of Souls from whence it came, until it is lost amongst the waves and nothing that is you remains. Some errant piece of you may survive into the next life whenever a new cup is drawn but a small piece is all that it will be. The coloration of your hair and eyes or perhaps even the way you laugh but the whole of you that is Rias Gremory is gone. Forever."

She shifted uncomfortably and looked at Lorne, honestly expecting to see him grinning viciously at her discomfort. Instead, she was surprised to find him looking away from her, his face set in an uncomfortable grimace as though the very thought of such a fate was enough to make him ill.

"It is not the same for Humans. When we die, we become truly immortal. We survive until the End of Days in whatever realm of the Hereafter is opened to us. Many are damned. Plenty are blessed. As for me, I would have been content. I would have gone to a place where the grassy fields stretch as far as the eye can see, and where a modest home sits atop a small hill."

"Is that what you think awaited you?" Rias asked.

"I don't think it. I know it. Because for one blessed moment, I was there to witness it, to feel it, to be a part of it. My Lady was there to thank me for the Services I had rendered, ready to take back what was borrowed but my eyes were not upon Her Glory and my ears were deaf to Her Praise. _They _were there to welcome me home. They were all there, waiting for me, waiting me to join them with open arms and smiling faces. My family, whole and complete as it never was in life, and I was _there_, with them."

Rias watched in silence as Lorne arose swiftly from his seat, a glimmer of wetness shining in his eyes as he hastily walked to the window of the foyer with his back to her. His hand touched lightly upon the glass as though what lay outside was that same glorious sight from so long ago.

"Never in my entire life have I ever felt such happiness as I did in that moment where I hung on the brink of death after all that I've endured." Lorne whispered more to himself than to Rias.

His eyes were wet with tears that he refused to let fall. He was smiling too, honestly and truly with a rapturous happiness the likes of which could break a miserly man's heart at the sight of it. Lorne took a deep breath of air and let it out in a slow, melancholic sigh before his shoulders tensed, muscles tightening beneath his flesh as his once warm and gentle eyes hardened into chips of cold steel.

"And then it was gone. Torn away from me. By you and you're damned desire. You took my family away from me. You took away everything that I have ever lived for, everything I was willing to _die_ for. It is for that reason alone that I will always hate you, Rias Gremory."

* * *

><p>Lorne stood with arms crossed and his usual scowl on his face as he waiting impatiently with the rest of Rias' Peerage. Contrary to the others who had dressed in their school uniforms, Lorne had decked himself out in a pair of army pants with metal tipped combat boots and a plain white muscle shirt. He bore no obvious weapons but his arms were wrapped tightly in bandages from his fingers all the way up to his shoulders.<p>

His impatience finally paid off as a magic circle appeared in the room of the Occult Research Club and Rias' sister-in-law, Grayfia emerged. "Is everybody ready then?"

"No, we've just been standing here for shits and giggles." Lorne snorted and gave a halfhearted glare towards Rias. "I think you should be trying for better service in your maids, Devil Princess. Might I suggest someone who's not already gray from old age?"

It amazed Rias, it really did, how easily Lorne could make an enemy out of everyone he met.

Well, everyone but Asia but that was because Rias firmly believed it was a physical impossibility to actively hate the girl for an extended period of time. It had to be why Raynare had delayed in the ritual that cost the young maiden her life after all.

The look that Grayfia gave Lorne would have killed lesser men in an instant. Even sitting far away as he was, Issei couldn't help shivering in fear, a hand unknowingly reaching out and clutching tightly to a certain blonde's own.

Grayfia turned her gaze back to Rias when she realized her glare was doing little to affect Rias' unwilling Knight. "Incidentally, this battle will be watched by Maou Lucifer himself."

"Well that's just fan-freaking-tastic but can we get this show on the road now? I plan on being free of you all before the day is through." Lorne interrupted.

"… I see that you've yet to realize your place in the grand scheme of things, Lorne-san." Grayfia spoke sternly to the young Knight who sneered right back.

"Oh believe me, I know _exactly_ where I stand, Old Maid. Clearly so do you. Ah, the life of a devil queen quite the life it must be."

"Lorne…" Rias groaned. If they somehow managed to win this Rating Game, Rias wouldn't doubt for a moment that there'd be many a price on the Knight's head by tomorrow morning if not sooner.

"Yeah, yeah… Just let me know when this damned thing finally gets started will you?"

* * *

><p>Lorne walked behind Koneko and Issei without care for the girl's disapproving gaze or the boy's halfhearted glare. Let them sneak about as they wanted, let them play to the ploy of a devil princess all that they liked. He had his own agenda in this game and come Heaven or Hell, he would see it done. Still, he had to give the devils their due credit, the recreation of the school was perfect that even he couldn't tell the difference between this battlefield and the real world equivalent.<p>

He followed after the pair and walked behind them as they entered the gymnasium from its back doors and up onto its solitary stage. The lights switched on at their approach as a voice called out to them.

"We know that you're over there, servants of Gremory!"

"I guess sneaking around doesn't do any good," muttered Issei.

"Especially when none of us have the stealth to speak of. Or rather, two of us don't and one of us refuses to grow up and try."

Koneko spared another heated glare at Lorne, her fist tightening enough to make her leather gloves creak.

They stepped out onto center stage and beheld the four devils that awaited them. Lorne's eyes narrowed and he muttered once more under his breath as he beheld them each in turn before focusing on the leader of the group, a young girl garbed in a Chinese dress.

"The Rook, the surprisingly spry Pawn, and a new addition?"

"Unfortunately, I've been on this damned leash longer than the Tadpole here but not as long as the Pussycat." Lorne answered. "Truthfully, it feels like a damned eternity to me."

The girl's eyes narrowed a bit before widening with sudden realization. "You must be Gremory's Knight."

"Really?" One of the twins turned to her sister. "That's him?"

"Really." She turned to her twin, "I thought he'd be taller."

Lorne raised an eyebrow in interest. "You've heard of me I take it?"

"Heard of your attitude more like," tittered the one with the wooden cudgel. "There's quite a lot of talk about the servant who stole from right under their King's nose."

Lorne turned to Issei, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Make a note here Tadpole. This is what having a _good_ reputation feels like."

_How is any of that good?!_ The perverted young devil thought to himself.

The apparent leader of the group brushed a lock of ebon hair aside from her face. "I am Xuelan and I'm a—"

"Yeah, look," interrupted Lorne. "I'm sure there's all this fancy protocol to these confrontations but I'm going to be perfectly straight with you. I know all that I need to know about you."

"Oh?" Xuelan's eyes narrowed, "Do tell."

"You're standing between me and my chance at freedom." Lorne's eyes gleamed under the lights. "**Tnyf.**"

Xuelan's eyes widened as her body flashed once before a multitude of crimson colored orbs flew forth from her breast and into Lorne's.

"What the?! What did you—?!"

Quick as lightning, Lorne's hand lifted up, a hellish red light shining beneath the bandages as he intoned, "**Venyky Pnayg.**"

A blast of fire launched from Lorne's open hand, smaller than a baseball and flying faster than the blinking of an eye. It landed amidst the devils and exploded with such force that every window in the gymnasium shattered. Lorne waited in silence for a moment, ignoring the wide-eyed and gaping stares of Koneko and Issei respectively.

_"Three of Lord Riser's Pawns have retired."_

He frowned at that and stared into the smoky crater. "**Yanu.**"

A gust of wind blew the smoke away and to his surprise, he found that Xuelan was not only still standing but was in relatively one piece. Blood was trailing down from her ears and smoke was rising from her back, which was covered in blistering burns. What little of her clothing was left was held together by threads and fraying patches but their was still defiance in her eyes and in her slowly upraising fists. She had ever intention of fighting still despite the agony she was enduring.

"You… You're a—!"

"**Venyky.**"

Another blast of fire, less concussive than the first but packing no less heat, impacted against Xuelan's face.

_"Lord Riser's Rook has retired."_

"And here I was expecting a challenge." Lorne muttered.

* * *

><p>In hindsight, Lorne should have expected the worse the moment he had spoken the words. Whilst he firmly believed in his Lady, she was not without an ever-listening Adversary. One who delighted in the tormenting of her Champions and those that it loathed. Just his luck that he fit under both and more besides for he was one of the few to have met that Adversary and survive.<p>

He had been Marked ever since.

They came at him in waves. The whole remaining lot of Riser's peerage with the devil himself holed up on the top of the school roof. Lorne had every intention of facing them all on without help but help came nonetheless no matter that it was unwanted.

The others of Rias' peerage had done well against Riser's own but they all fell eventually. Some, like Koneko and Asia, had fallen before they had the chance to taste the delight of victory whilst others, like Kiba, took their opponents down with them as they went and had the distinction of taking down three previously. Even Issei, for all his bravado and adoration for Rias, had succumbed to his opponent's overwhelming might but like Kiba before him, Issei made sure to drag his adversary, the very one whom had put Asia down, along with most of Riser's remaining pieces. Akeno had taken to the skies to challenge Riser's Queen, Yubelluna, and she fell easily to the Bomb Queen's might.

Lorne?

He _Drew_ the Bomb Queen's signature magical attack and threw it back in her face.

Now he was busying himself with Riser.

And he was losing.

He had thought Riser a fool. One unused to the arts of combat, but the devil was anything but a rookie when it came to fighting. True, he wasn't a hand-to-hand type or even a weapons user nor was he a mage of any sort, but there was one thing that Riser Feenix was.

Fire.

It flowed to the man's hands, burst like a corona at the slightest of gestures, flew like arches and wove like serpents, and worst of all….

It was all done entirely by instinct and without an ounce of magic behind it.

Riser had no need for incantations. Had no need to _Draw_ his power from an outside source. He was the source and his well was practically limitless. Controlled by his own limited sources, Lorne could only _Protect_ himself against the onslaught of flames and such _Protection_ was not without its costs. He was coming close to being spent entirely and he had only managed to kill Riser thrice before the devil had taken to changing his targets.

On his own, Lorne might have managed to hold his own against Riser.

With Rias Gremory at his side, it was all but impossible.

Her "Power of Destruction" was useless in this fight. It required concentration to build up a significant amount of energy to even faze Riser let alone hurt him enough to force his regenerative flames into effect. More to the point, she was not in a true combatant. Her enemies were almost always on their last leg or, if not dying, all but immobile. She had grown complacent in her Power to try and learn otherwise despite Lorne's scathing remarks then and now.

The two of them had been arguing this very fact, coming close to outright physical blows, when Riser's plan came to fruition. The walls of the school succumbed to the wanton destruction dealt between two devil heirs and the building started to collapse down upon her and Lorne both.

Then, and only then, did Rias Gremory do something that Lorne had thought was impossible of her to do.

She surprised him.

How you ask?

By saving his life.

A simple shove powered by a small magical circle had been enough to send him flying out of the way but his unyielding grip on her other arm was strong enough to ensure that she had been dragged along for the ride. The two slid along against the earth for several yards before coming to a rolling stop.

"The _fuck_… was that…?" groaned Lorne, trying and failing to find the strength to glare at Rias, "you idiot."

"You're the idiot." Rias snapped right back. "Only a brute like you holds a lady's arm like that!"

"Brute I may be but I'm not the one…" Lorne struggled to his feet and managed to at least sit up, "looking for a way to lose this fight!"

"I wasn't trying to lose!" Rias startled him by sitting upright herself, and revealing that her shirt had been torn open enough to reveal two sights that would have made Issei's day if not his entire week. "I was going to fly out of the way!"

"Then why didn't you?!" he exclaimed.

"Because you would have gotten hurt!"

Lorne's eyes lost their heated glare almost begrudgingly as he murmured, "And that matters to you?"

"Of course it does! You are still a member of my family!"

Lorne's eyes widened. "Your… what?"

"My family! That's what being a part of a peerage means!"

For once, Lorne had no sharp tongued retort to make, words utterly failing to arise in his mind as he stared at the devil whom had dragged his soul back and placed within it, a piece of damnation. She who had brought him back to life when all others would have, _should have_, left him for dead. He had thought her opinion of him was as a slave, as a weapon to be utilized when she needed him most, and here she was protecting him because she thought of him as family?

He looked up and saw that Riser was approaching them, his smirking face alight by the flames that gathered and swirled around him like protective wraiths.

Lorne had nothing left to cast that could truly harm the scion of the Feenix, nor could he hope to draw from Rias and utilize her Power as his own without dire consequences from—

**_Speak to us._**

He started, the slightest twitching of his shoulders and tightening of his hands into trembling fists. It couldn't be.

But it was.

**_Call for us._**

After all this time, when he had thought them gone and his salvation lost forever and his damnation assured. He looked down at his arms and watched with teary eyes as the bandages unwound and the runes inscribed upon his very flesh pulsed again to the beating of hearts.

**_And We Will Answer._**

"What's…?" Rias started to ask when Lorne abruptly dragged her up onto her feet. He brought a startled flush to her face as he wrapped one arm tightly around her shoulders and his lips hanging precariously close to her ear as he whispered.

"Promise me, swear to me by all that you hold dear, that no matter what happens next, you will not leave my side. I cannot ensure that you will survive otherwise."

"Lorne?"

"Swear it and know that your freedom is assured as is mine." He looked at her out the corner of one eye, bright and desperate but there was no fear, no hesitation.

"… I swear." Rias said.

Lorne nodded and looked turned his attention fully upon Riser.

"I will share my pain with you…" His call was a faint whisper but it was heard regardless and answered swiftly.

Blackened miasma pooled at the earth behind him and Rias, swelling larger and larger until it was the size of a small lake.

**Agonizing Pain.**

From the depths of the sky, a great hook fell from the underbelly of Heaven and fell into the putrid pool. Gnarled and rusted the heavy iron chain gave more and more slack until abruptly stopping with a sudden wrench. The chain retracted slowly and as it arose with company from the heart of the blackened pool and within the clutches of these chains was a horrific visage.

**Wretched Misery.**

A demonic head, scaled and almost fishlike were it not for its strangely human configuration, was pulled first by the crook of its neck by the barbed hook. Fangs gleamed in its gaping mouth as the rest of its monstrous form arose bounded by iron chain and linen cloth. Its great arms were crossed tightly across its chest, bandages conforming tightly upon its skin and allowing only the slightest movement.

**From The Seventh Circle Of The Inferno, I Have Arisen**

**From The Agonies Of Thy Heart, I Have Come.**

Twin shells arose from the miasmic abyss at its hips, a protective shield on either side that bore the pains of the chains wrenching them open and keeping it from shying its atrocities away from the world. The hook loosened and disappeared into the ethereal as though it never was and with its absence, a damning sight was made clear at the base of the demon's throat. A woman rested there but only the barest sign of her could be seen, her arms a cruel mimicry of the creature's monstrous limbs for there was neither she and the demon but the both of them together as one.

**I Am Anima.**

**I Am PAIN…**

Her mouth opened wide and unleashed a terrible shriek, a horrific amalgamation of the cry of an agonized human and the wailing of a wretched beast, and the very air _screamed_ in conjunction with her misery.

**And I Will Share It With You.**

Her eyes, pale and milky white, flashed once in a brilliant burst of blackened light and in that instant that followed Riser learned anew what pain truly is.

For you to have even an inkling of the level of agonies that he endured… Imagine if you will, your very flesh being torn asunder by barbed hooks and whole crates worth of salt being poured upon the exposed muscles beneath. Imagine if you will, red-hot pokers stabbing at your every open orifice, twisting and grinding their way steadily upward… Imagine if you will, lightning coursing its way through your veins, igniting the blood within into steam that was slowly broiling its way out through the pores of your skin.

But that's only the physical. The manner of pain that shall eventually come to an end and will heal, leaving but scars as silent testament to what was endured.

Imagine the pain… Of watching helpless as your family is torn asunder before your very eyes. Watching them as they are brought down like animals to the slaughter and knowing full well that you could have done something. That you _should _have. Imagine if you will, watching as those closest and dearest to your heart, whom you trust more than your own very self, take the blade that you armed them with and stab it straight into your back. Listen to them as they boast of your follies as they twist the knife deeper until its jagged tip punctures your heart and brings the long awaited silence.

Do you have it?

Then you have a mere measure of what Riser Feenix endured in the blink of an eye.

He collapsed to his hands and knees, sweat falling like rain from his brow as his lungs struggled for breath whilst his stomach heaved like a turbulent sea. The famed regeneration of his clan, that which made them all but immortal except for the effects of time to which all things must fall…

Was absolutely worthless.

For despite the agonies he endured, Riser bore no wound but by his own making as he screamed to a silent God, bit his lips bloody, and clawed numerous scars upon his own flesh. The regeneration would heal any injury but those that are self-inflicted. It was the only way for one of his clan to die when they chose if they grew impatient for death.

Anima's eyes flashed again and Riser's scream became a gurgling mess as his vocal chords tore themselves bloodied and hoarse deep in his throat. His wings spread beyond their limit and the avian bones snapped like kindling from the strain, muscles tearing and flesh rupturing, and yet these were but faint pinpricks to the agonies that he endured under the Primal's milky gaze. It had been a _long_ time since last she had been given a new enemy, a new toy, to break.

And Anima had only just begun to play.


	10. Lost Relations

**DISCLAIMER:** All copyrighted materials belong to their respected owners.

* * *

><p><strong>From a Dusty Attic<strong>

By Corvus no Genmu

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><p><em>Lost Relations<br>_

The dawn is quiet… too quiet to be safe for sleeping and this awakens Lion-O faster than the roar of laser fire or the thundering steps of an iron skinned titan. He wakes up slowly, cautiously, not for fear of alerting whatever brought this strange silence in a once noisy wood but for other things his senses are telling him that his mind believes impossible. He hears the crackling of flames, fires that had been doused at the rising of the moons and should not have been alighted for anything. A scent too, not a cat but a smell that could almost be… it was almost… familiar… He cracked one eye open and saw someone sitting at the fire, their back turned to him, stirring the embers with a long, thin stick of wood. Whoever it was, they were hidden beneath a thick black cloak and busy with keeping the flames alive. Lion-O sat up slowly and glanced at his right to meet tawny gold eyes.

Tygra was awake and already had his laser pistol in hand and further away with the twins awake and huddled behind Cheetara whom was crouched and ready for a burst of clerical speed, just enough to carry the children away should things turn ugly. Nodding, Lion-O rose to a crouch, the young king silently reaching for his sword.

"If I had intended to kill you cats, I would have done so while you slept." The voice was distinctly male and sounding less than impressed with their actions given that he hadn't bothered to turn around and kept stoking the fire.

"That kind of introduction doesn't give us much reason to trust you now does it?" questioned Lion-O, hand reaching down to grasp the hilt of the Sword of Omens but he did not pull it free. "Who are you?"

"Does knowing my name really tell you anything?" The stranger asked in return.

"If you expect us to trust you, then you should trust us with your name." Lion-O shot back, experienced with this kind of game.

The stranger barked a loud laugh. "Ha! I like you, kid. You've got more heart than I'd expect from your species. I've earned many names in my lifetime but my friends call me Salazar."

Tygra, looking insulted at the stranger's choice of phrase, growled, "Oh? Then what do your enemies call you?"

The air felt suddenly colder though the flames still burned heartily. Where he turned to face them, Lion-O would not doubt that Salazar's eyes would be glaring upon his older brother.

"Your… _brother_… on the other claw…" said Salazar, ignoring Tygra and speaking still to Lion-O "Is exactly as I've seen of your people. Prideful to the point of cruel arrogance," He stoked the flames back to life, ignoring the faint growl of the offended Tygra. A bright flash of lightning from a passing storm illuminated an arm heavy with a rusty-red armguard and wickedly sharp claws though the hands were more catlike but it didn't matter for the limb was not covered in fine fur but jaded scales.

A lizard's arm…

The ThunderCats immediately tensed but made no move to attack the lizard. Well, not with Lion-O's arm held out to stop Tygra from blasting the cloaked lizard in the back. The tiger shot his younger brother a fierce glare and was met with the same defiance that sought freedom for two former slaves; slaves who had returned the same kindness that Tygra had scolded his brother for not hours after the invasion that became the near genocide of their species. How long ago was that…? Days for certain… Perhaps even a week? So much had happened since then…

Lion-O was straight to the point, "What is it that you want?"

If the lizard felt the glares upon his back or even noticed the silent exchange behind him, he didn't give any sign besides a derisive snort at the young lion's words. "That's a long list that doesn't ever seem to get any shorter as the days go by. At the moment though, I want to enjoy a meal between allies."

"Allies?" repeated an incredulous Cheetara.

"Too early to really call us friends," stated the strange lizard named Salazar, "Sit down and talk, or take up your arms and leave. In the end it doesn't matter to me what you decide, I'll follow you still."

Lion-O's eyes narrowed the slightest bit, having caught on to what the lizard was alluding to. "How long have you been following us?"

"Honestly? I'd been in your city for days before the attack."

"Impossible! There's no way a lizard could have been holed up in Thundera without anyone noticing!" exclaimed Tygra.

"Yes because the cats care so much beyond themselves. As I recall, what few animals that were allowed within the city walls were allotted to the slums. Truly it was so good of your people to grant refuges sanctuary with the worst kind of the scum." Salazar snapped right back. "I saw a lot of the cats' bigotry in those few days I was there, but then I saw something that surprised me. A cat that fought on the behalf of a dog, a son who stood up against his father in the defense of two lizards caught stealing food for starving hatchlings, a prince who stood against the will of his own people for the ideal of unity between the species."

Salazar turned his head and revealed a short snout tipped with a small horn of crimson with a bearded spike of the same reddish hue and eyes of molten amber, thin slits wide in the low light of the fire. He smiled a fanged smile like a grandfather proud of his grandchild's accomplishments though he sounded hardly any younger than Lion-O's father if even that much.

"I saw you, Lion-O. It is as I had hoped. Leona lives still, if only in you."

Three sets of eyes widened at that name while two pairs of younger orbs glanced to one another in confusion. For neither of the twins had lived long enough in the capitol city of Thundera to hear for themselves the name of its Queen whom had died on the day of Lion-O's birth.

"You… knew my mother?" The young king asked in hopes of an answer from another's eyes. He learned of his mother through Jaga alone who freely answered what questions he could. Rare was the moment when Claudus opened his heart to his son and spoke of the woman that he had loved, the woman whom had died to deliver him the son he so desired. Tygra said nothing of her, walking away from curiosity until cold and resentful silence became the only certain answer from the tiger.

"Knew her?" Salazar offered a halfhearted chuckle empty of any true emotion such as happiness. There was clear remembrance in those eyes bordered with disdain at past words left unspoken, old actions never redeemed. The words that he could never speak…

Not now.

Maybe not ever…

But still, he could try.

"I more than knew her, I _raised_ her."


	11. An Old Friend

**DISCLAIMER:** All copyrighted materials belong to their respected owners.

* * *

><p><strong>From a Dusty Attic<strong>

By Corvus no Genmu

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><p><em>An Old Friend<em>

"Ouch, that's rather harsh isn't it? If it is not too bold of me to say." Gasping in shock, Melody turned to look down below her to see something that took her breath away.

What Melody saw staring up at her was best described as neither man nor beast but a strange fusion of the two. Overall, the beast was reptilian, with a turtle's skin and shell but a human's gentle face upon scales of green, with dreadlocks of hair, which looked more like tightly coiled seaweed than actual strands, falling beneath a buccaneer's cap and privateer's crimson bandanna. Eyes like sparkling coals blinked upwards at her and a fingered hand waved a kind greeting as the sea-creature spoke in a voice similar to the sound of shifting sands. "Ahoy."

"Um… hi?" Melody blinked in surprise and leaned forward slightly, a bit wary of the turtle-man but not too much so having already met and spoken with several sea turtles and found them to be a rather pleasant, if a bit too easy-going, lot. "What are you? I've never seen anything like you before…"

The turtle-man chuckled and shook his head, muttering a quiet word of déjà vu before smiling and stretching his neck further out of the gently waving waters. "It is good to finally meet you but you mustn't be out here. The ocean is not a safe place for you."

Melody, though knee deep in a mixture of wonder and slightness of fright about the strange creature floating before her, couldn't help but frown from the all-too-familiar words of her mother reflecting in the creature's own. Frustration born of several unanswered questions and years of denial pushed down her curiosity and made her forget the fact that this sea-creature whom she had never met knew of playful nickname her mother gave her.

"Oh not you too! It's bad enough with that stupid wall is there," Melody waved towards the massive wall that hid the palace from the ocean's sight where gentle waves gently slapped the stone walls as though begging for entry upon the sands behind, "but now I've got sea-creatures telling me it's dangerous to be out in the ocean!"

The turtle-man blinked in surprise before grabbing a hold of the rock and leaning up towards Melody. "Child, it's not the sea that you must be wary of but who lies within it. Has your mother not told you?"

"My mother?" Melody glared and crossed her arms in a huff. "My mom is the one who keeps telling me the sea is dangerous in the first place!"

The turtle-man's eyes widened in shock before he sighed and shook his head sadly, his dreadlocks dripping water onto the rock. "Oh Ariel… I thought you would know better than to make the same mistakes…"

Melody blinked and stared at the turtle-man. "How do you know my mother's name?"

The turtle-man sighed and slowly eased himself up onto the rock and sat down beside the raven-haired girl. Melody blinked in surprise at how much taller he was even when sitting down as well as the strange assortments decorating his shell. Were those tattoos adorning his arms? Was that a scar made from sea serpent's fang or man's sword?

"To begin with, let us first introduce ourselves properly." The turtle-man took off his tricorne and bowed his head. "My real name is hard to pronounce in the human-tongues so you may call me Gwappa of the Aquarius Clan."

Melody curtsied slightly, feeling slightly ridiculous since she was wearing her nightclothes. "I am Princess Melody Anderson of the Royal Crown of Denmark."

Gwappa smiled and nodded. "Now that the pleasantries are out of the way, I shall answer your first question. No doubt you are aware of a vast array of life that, for the better part, remains unseen in the deep waters of the sea?"

"You mean like mermaids, giant squids, and sea monsters?"

"Ah yes there are those but there are many more my dear and not just in the Atlantic." Gwappa smiled and waved a hand at himself. "My own kind resides in the Pacific Ocean. I am what the natives of the country Nippon would call a kappa though I do not possess the indentation upon my head like the Makai Clan."

"Indentation?" Melody leaned up to try and see but even if Gwappa's hat and bandanna weren't adorning his head, she could not see past the many hair-like dreadlocks that fell to the end of his long neck.

"Yes, the spell casters of my race, a relatively unpleasant lot let me tell you, have a large indentation upon the top of their heads where water must always be kept whenever they're on land, otherwise they become no different than a turtle. Of course, a turtle that can speak the human tongues but a turtle nonetheless."

"Why is that?" asked Melody, despite wanting to learn how this kappa knew her mother, he was the first of any 'mythical' sea-life she had ever seen and, like her first time speaking to Sebastian, wasn't eager to stop asking as many questions as she could. Maybe he would be more forthcoming with the answers than Sebastian who always found an excuse to not answer.

Gwappa shrugged. "We thought it best to not look a gift seahorse in the mouth." Gwappa held up a hand to stall Melody's next question. "Though I do want to answer all of your questions Melody I fear that we must put this conversation on hold for the time being."

"Huh? Why?" Melody pouted slightly, he still hadn't told her how he knew her mother!

"If I'm not mistaken…" Gwappa looked towards the castle's seawall where the sounds of large crowds and music could be heard easily. "Your birthday party shall be starting soon."

"What! Oh no!" Melody stood and saw that many of the colored lights of the season were being lit with the sun just touching the horizon. "I'm going to be late! Oh my mother's going to kill me!" Melody dived forward into the water and started to swim as fast as she could towards the palace but stopped suddenly and turned about to see Gwappa merely watching her atop 'her' rock. "Can I talk to you again? You still haven't answered my question!"

Gwappa waved her on. "We shall, Little Melody. Away with you, lest you be even later than you intended."

Melody waved goodbye and hurriedly swam back towards the palace as the kappa watched her shrink away into the waves before shaking his head sadly. "Ariel, Ariel, Ariel…. One would think you would have learned from your father's mistakes instead of repeating them…"

"D'at kinda talk can get ya into trouble, mon." Gwappa glanced down and smiled at the sight of a familiar red crab.

"Sebastian, how do you fare in these recent years?" asked the kappa, reaching down with an open palm to the little crustacean, who tiredly climbed aboard.

"Still babysitting teenagers," sighed Sebastian as Gwappa raised him up to talk face-to-face. "Generations aside, how you doin', Gwappa? It's been years."

Gwappa frowned slightly. "Thirteen years, six months, and seven days… if you're counting that is…" He sighed, looking over towards the castle wall. "I did not think it would hurt so much…"

"Going or coming back?" asked Sebastian.

"Both. Neither. I don't know…" Gwappa shook his head. "What has happened Sebastian? I can tell she's Ariel's daughter but it's obvious she knows nothing of her mother's past…" _Or of me…_ he thought silently to himself.

Sebastian heard nonetheless and sat back on Gwappa's palm with his claws crossed under his shell. "Dat is a long story."

"Sebastian," Gwappa chided, chuckling softly. "If there's one thing my kind has plenty of it is patience." He glanced back at the castle with its high walls and iron bars, frowning in thought. "But perhaps I shall take the abridged version, if you'd be so kind…"


	12. From Within, Without

**DISCLAIMER:** All copyrighted materials belong to their respected owners.

* * *

><p><strong>From a Dusty Attic<strong>

By Corvus no Genmu

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><p><em>From Within, Without<br>_

There are matters that pertain not to men or to animals. Matters between gods and demons, the affairs of immortals whose power are not to be ignored or denied. Mumm-Ra was once a man, a genius some would say, until genius gave way to delusions of godhood which he had every right to claim for no other before he had ever done what he had done and these were feats when he was bound by the same rules as the common man, long before his discovery of the Ancient Spirits of Evil, a quartet of living sin recognized more formally as Gluttony, Greed, Wrath, and Pride.

When he encountered them, Mumm-Ra became more than a man and throughout the centuries of his reign, when a blanket of death and despair began to span across the expanse of space, he would be called many things. Monster, demon, evil given flesh… he was all this but in the end he was still the very thing he has tried for centuries to forget but will always remember in the depths of his shriveled heart.

He is human.

And as such, he is prone to the same foolhardiness as any human is due.

Even now all these centuries after his bargain with the Ancient Spirits, to be their Champion of Evil, did it ever cross Mumm-Ra's mind that he would be betrayed as he has been by them for countless years. he begged for an undying form and he got it in the form of a decayed corpse with power accessible only by begging for their assistance, a crime of unspeakable evil to one who knew no such thing as the word "request". He wanted his creations to be matchless and they were even unto his own power they could, together, overwhelmed him and could very well do so again.

To betray and to be betrayed… this was Mumm-Ra's existence for all of eternity, but he was too blind to see it especially when he made it so easy.

"Ancient Spirits of Evil, I call upon you to resurrect this ancient titan and to imbue it with my soul!"

_Foolish little man… foolish little mortal…_

_You still haven't learned… from your past mistakes…_

_You want a different form… than what we gave…?_

_Take the Titan's form if you so desire… but take it all …!_

**_TAKE IT ALL!_**

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><p>"<em>You have taken your last breath, Lord of the ThunderCats!<em>"

These words echoed within the confines of his new body's mind and Mumm-Ra's perpetual scowl grew further from the bitter reminder that he had his adversary in the palm of his hand. He had the feline and had lost him in one fell to a weakness of this new form, this "invincible titan"! He cursed it thrice over at its weakness. He raged at the form that remained still and motionless despite his own wakefulness… until he realized that he was not as alone as he presumed.

The titan's roar echoed fresh and alive within the shared mind and what was an empty void became a field of obsidian rocks that towered over the living corpse that was Mumm-Ra. The Dark Champion drew his cloak close, not out of fear but necessary caution for though the landscape was a bitter blackness the sky above was clear and the sun shone brightly but it was a useless specter in the depths of a beast's mind; decoration and nothing more.

Taking another glance at the spires of obsidian rock, Mumm-Ra saw reflections not of himself within the blackened mirrors but of monsters, demons, and titans alike. Some beautiful even to his ashen heart, others too terrifying for words, but each and every one of them powerful beyond comprehension. Fire did not burn them, water did not drown them, earth could not hold them, and no matter how the winds howled they could not force them to bow. Many rose as challengers, others came as allies, few stayed on that fine line of neutrality, but none who faced against the Demonic Dreadnought did so again a second time.

The artificial ground beneath Mumm-Ra trembled to a titan's footsteps before the aptly named dreadnought appeared in all his monstrous glory, eyes of flame ablaze with a primordial fury that brought a smile to a withered face.

"So some piece of your soul survived after all… I should have suspected as much but—!" Arcane lightning danced in the living corpse's hands. "You may have bested your kind beast but you cannot hope to challenge me!"

The Demonic Dreadnought roared and charged forth regardless for as his adversary said, he had no hope to challenge the Champion of Evil but then whoever said it was to be a challenge in the first place? A challenge implies equal ground, equal standing between two combatants. A fight of even proportions where victory could come to either side without warning, without prediction and so such battles are called challenges but this was no such thing as a challenge in the eyes of the one who stood on a taller pedestal than a mere champion. No, this was not to be a challenge.

This was to be a slaughter.

* * *

><p>Lion-O's grip on the Sword of Omens tightened as the last of the smoke from Ponzi's potion dissipated to reveal little change in Mumm-Ra. All that work wasted for a single leaf days old and dried of its potency thanks to the potion maker's pet caterpillar and her voracious appetite. The one chance they had wasted and now death was for certain and Mumm-Ra's victory all but assured as… the beast wavered on his feet?<p>

Lion-O's frown slowly vanished as the monster stumbled with its arms clawing at its stomach that rumbled ominously. It coughed, spraying spittle everywhere and staggered forward. It coughed again, more spittle flying and the rumbling growing in volume.

Panthro's eyes widened with realization. "I think he's going to—"

Whatever the panther had to say was forgotten beneath a shrill scream as a massive winged form came barreling forth above the gathered ThunderCats and impacted straight into the monstrous Mumm-Ra's stomach. The beast fell to his claws and knees from the blow and wheezed for air. Tygra, drunk on love potion, skipped forward questioning whether the beast that was Mumm-Ra had an upset tummy before the thing opened its mouth wide and—

"Gross!" Lion-O sincerely wished that his brother was still under the effects of the love potion because if he wasn't, monster or no monster, Tygra was going to kill him in the most agonizing of ways possible.

A thick, viscous pool of purplish liquid covered the tiger before a small feathered form landed flat on his skull and knocked him into the sweet oblivion that was unconsciousness to which Lion-O was somewhat grateful if it meant that he would live some few hours yet and could hopefully receive another kiss from Pumyra before he was to die as some valiant heroes often did, screaming for mercy from their older brothers.

"Wait… Isn't that bird… Mumm-Ra?" asked Cheetara, staring at the drenched crow that cawed angrily as it tried to fly free from the slime of stomach juices and succeeding only in drenching itself further. Noticing their eyes upon it, the raven cackled with mad abandon.

"_Fools! Though I have lost my new body you will still die regardless! Without my soul to guide it, the body of the Demonic Dreadnought will attack everything in sight and leave nothing untouched from its wrath! It will destroy you all and—_"

Massive claws came crashing down, enveloping the bird in a fistful of rubble and carried it skyward to gaze into molten fury. Bony jaws opened wide in a vicious roar before snapping down inches from the bird's beak. Now at a clear disadvantage, Mumm-Ra screamed before he slipped free from the titan's grasp and beat a hasty retreat back to his pyramid. The dreadnought roared and purple lightning flew forth and scorched trailing tail feathers but the bird became a speck of black on the horizon before a mortal hit could be guaranteed.

"_You cannot run from me forever!_" The ThunderCats gaped in surprise at hearing the titanic beast speak not in the voice of Mumm-Ra, but one of its own, deep and echoing in their minds just as Mumm-Ra's had. "_No matter where you may go, no matter where you may hide, I will find you and when I do, **I'LL KILL YOU**!_" The monster's scream sent most of the cats to their knees in pain as a winged shadow fell protectively over them in the form of Lucy who had transmuted into a beautiful butterfly with wings large enough to encompass the monster's body easily.

She squealed, shining emerald eyes narrowed and meeting blazing red without fear as her wings spread wide to show off the distinct patterns of glaring eyes upon her ancestral adversary. The beast snorted and turned away from her gaze.

"_I have no quarrel with you Child of Cair Paravel._" The eyes of the monster narrowed as he glared down at the lion that held a sword of incredible power and potential in his paws. "_But I would have words with you Scion of Leo._"


	13. Fighting Death

**DISCLAIMER:** All copyrighted materials belong to their respected owners.

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><p><strong>From a Dusty Attic<strong>

By Corvus no Genmu

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><p><em>Fighting Death<em>

The last of the Team Flare administrators went running like a flock of frightened Pidgey with a Skarmory hot upon their tail feathers. Not that Turok the Tyrantrum had any true idea as to what those were exactly, but he understood the expression nonetheless as he further enticed their retreat with a primordial _Roar._ He panted for breath, tongue hanging lazily out of his fanged lower jaw as he turned to regard Calem. The Despot Pokémon growled tiredly to the young boy who nodded in agreement.

"Rest up Turok… You and the others have more than earned it." He said, recalling the Tyrantrum back into his PokéBall.

More than earned it indeed. Calem had honestly lost track of the number of grunts, administrators, and official scientists he and his team had fought through getting here, to the abysmal heart of Team Flare's "ultimate weapon." Just about every one of his Pokémon, while at full health thanks to a healthy hindsight of previously purchased Potions, were all but dead on their feet. Figuratively speaking for most and quite literally for one. The trainer's hand strayed down to the Poké Ball containing the one and only member of his team he felt capable of fighting to the absolute fullest potential.

Was it fate that it was Maurice, his starter Pokémon?

He clutched the ball tightly in hand and pressed it against his forehead and for a moment, he entertained the notion that the motion was repeated within the small orb. He replaced it upon his belt and took a solitary step forward to the core of Team Flare's ultimate weapon, the resting body of the Legendary Pokémon of—

CRACK.

Calem froze. The massive tubes and wires connecting the frozen body as a power source to Team Flare's ultimate weapon far above in what was left of Geosenge Town were sparkling more now than ever before. Yet that alone was not what had Calem taking a cautionary step back away from the apparatus. No, the red trails of energy flowing through the cables were not going upwards but downwards heading back into the massive black cocoon from whence they came.

Azure light began to shine in a vicious halo around the black cocoon as alarms began to scream shrilly across the facility. Beams of energy began to pierce through the faint opening within the obsidian cocoon before it was swallowed entirely in a blinding light.

In the moments that followed, when he could see nothing but the spots of color dancing like drunken Spinda in front of his eyes… That was when Calem heard it.

The Voice of Death…

It was as much a bird's screech as it was a dragon's roar, both intertwined so tightly together that it was impossible to tell one from the other. Calem looked upwards. He watched as the energy condense into a distinctive Y-shape before solidifying entirely into a purely living form as the energy cables were torn asunder and sent flying to the walls.

Black hardened scales on the outside, a bloodied red on the underneath with thick veins of obsidian crisscrossing their way from clawed wings, torso, and down to the clawed tail. Black horns curved forward above pupil-less blue eyes with a pair of thin prongs flowing back like antennae from the back of its avian head. A large, feathery gray ruff encircled the birdlike neck and billowed out along the thick hide of its back.

**_Do you fear death, mortal?_**

This was the Legendary Pokémon of Destruction.

**_Do you fear me, human boy?_**

This was Yveltal.

And its gaze was entirely upon Calem who found the space between him and the wall suddenly nonexistent as the massive Pokémon landed upon the metal ground and loosed another terrible cry as a red light began to shine from deep within its chest. Calem's eyes closed tightly against the bloodied glow.

A blazing blue light and a familiar roar made Calem's eyes snap open. "Maurice!"

The Chestnaught's fists were clutched tightly together, the thick forestry across the back of his forelimbs weaving together into a thick, spiked shield as he loosed a double-handed _Hammer Arm_ across Yveltal's face. The Destruction Pokémon's head turned with the blow before slowly looked back down upon the grass-type Pokémon at its feet.

**_Very well._**

It lifted into the air and the whole room was swallowed up into a darkened abyss the likes of which brought a nasty sense of vertigo in Calem.

**_Show me your conviction._**

Still, he stood tall and proud besides his starter, one hand reaching out and clutching tightly upon the Chestnaught's shoulder as he spoke, "… If it's a challenge he wants. Then it's a challenge he's gonna get! _Wood Hammer!_"

Maurice roared and leapt skywards with his arms coming together and forming a massive hammer made of mahogany's might before bringing it down upon Yveltal's head. Blackened light danced along its form and shot outwards in a _Dark Pulse_ easily several times more powerful than either Pokémon or trainer had ever seen before. The Chestnaught was hit nearly point blank and he was sent flying, rolling tightly into a ball and letting his spiny armor take the brunt of the assault. Even so, the grass type did not immediately uncurl from his protective shell while Yveltal appeared none the worse for wear but for a sudden surge of yellowish light dancing along its horns.

Maurice flinched, his clawed fingers digging deep into the earth as _Disable_ took effect not once but twice in rapid succession, cutting him off from two of his most powerful moves.

Two.

But certainly not all...

Calem blinked in surprise as an emerald glow began to surround Maurice's body before the Chestnaught's eyes snapped open in the same vivid light as he roared, the grass energies coursing down through his arms and into the earth beneath him before erupting upwards in a massive flailing storm of thick, thorn ridden roots.

"_Frenzy Plant…_" breathed Calem in disbelief. "How did you—When did you even…?"

The Chestnaught looked back at his trainer and smiled tiredly as the dust started to settle, revealing that the roots had crumbled away into splinters and Yveltal preparing to unleash—

**_Oblivion Wing._**

Crimson light burst from the Destruction Pokémon's chest and completely enveloped Maurice, drowning out his agonized roar with the shrill scream of death's deliverance. The beam vanished as quickly as it had come and showed the unmoving form of the Chestnaught lying prone on the ground as orbs of reddish light drifted upward into the welcoming wings of Yveltal. The wounds that Yveltal had received regenerated with astounding speed until it was as pristine as when it first awoke from its centuries long slumber.

As for Maurice…

He wasn't moving.

"Oh Arceus, no… No!" Calem ran into the battlefield, heedless of Yveltal's presence as he knelt down beside the grass/fighting-type. "No, Maurice, damn it, stay with me!" He dug through his backpack but as he tossed aside countless varieties of PokéBalls, Full Heals, and even an odd Rare Candy or three, Calem was rapidly coming up dry with anything remotely resembling a Potion or even a health inducing Berry.

**_It is inevitable._**

Calem turned wet eyes upwards and glared angrily up at Yveltal as it landed once more to the earth, the chamber returning to normalcy as it did so.

**_Death comes to all who stand—_**

Yveltal's pupil-less eyes widened as a clawed hand clamped down upon Calem's shoulder. The young trainer looked over his shoulder with wide, tearful eyes at the smiling face of his Chestnaught. Blood trickled lightly from Maurice's mouth but there was no mistaking the light in the Spiny Armor Pokémon's eyes, the light of conviction even against insurmountable odds.

**_How can this be…?_**

The PokéBalls along Calem's belt jiggled once before they erupted simultaneously as the Pokémon within emerged and encircled themselves around the downed Chestnaught and their trainer.

At the fore, with shield held tightly in her clothed arms, Arturia the Aeigislash glared with her solitary draconian eye at Yveltal in a silent dare for the Crimson Death to try and make a move as the familiar ivory light of _Sacred Sword_ danced along her body's blade.

Just beneath Arturia, with her mouth agape with cryogenic energies for an freeze-inducing _Sheer Cold_, was Neseag the Lapras, the mild-mannered Pokémon glaring in open rage. Turok took his place opposite of the ice-type with teeth fully bared, golden geokinetic force gathered in the crown above his eyes as he readied a vicious _Head Smash_ for Yveltal's torso.

Standing atop his familiar perch at the top of Maurice's spiny shell, Jean Luc the Pikachu's cheek sacs sparkled dangerously as electricity gathered in a terrible _Thunder_, ready to bring the Avian of Death down to the earth once more.

Behind Maurice and Calem, with massive wings spread wide in a loose embrace and the blazing light of the sun impossible piercing down into countless yards into the earth was Bowen the Charizard in his full Mega Form. The fire of his lengthened tail was steadily burning hotter and higher by the moment, a crimson glow beginning to develop along his body as he readied a _Blast Burn, _the fire-type's equivalent to Maurice's _Frenzy Plant_.

Calem looked at all of his gathered Pokémon. Each and every one of them were on their last leg with little more than a sliver of red equivalent to their overall health and yet each and every one of them were willing to stand against the Pokémon equivalent to Death itself with their most powerful and, for some incredibly damning, attacks at the ready. He looked up at the hovering Legendary, his fists clenching tight.

"I may fear you..." he whispered, his hand reaching down to an empty UltraBall lying beside him, "but that doesn't mean we can't beat you!"


End file.
